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ALASKA    DAYS    WITH    JOHN    MUIR 


By 
S.  HALL  YOUNG,   P.P. 

Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir.    Il- 
lustrated, i2mo,  cloth — net  $i.iS 

"  Do  you  remember  Stickeen,  the 
canine  hero  of  John  Muir's  dog  story? 
Here  is  a  book  by  the  man  who  owned 
Stickeen  and  was  Muir's  companion  on 
the  adventurous  trip  among  the  Alas- 
kan glaciers.  This  is  not  only  a  breezy 
outdoor  book,  full  of  the  wild  beauties 
of  the  Alaskan  wilderness,  it  is  also  a 
living  portrait  of  John  Muir  in  the  great 
moments  of  his  career." — New  York 
Times. 

"  I  can  see  only  one  fault  with  the 
book,  it  is  far  too  short.  I  should  love  to 
read  such  a  book  as  big  as  the  diction- 
ary. Thank  you  very  much  !" — Gene 
Stratton-Porter. 

"  One  need  not  be  an  admirer  of  John 
Muir  to  be  thoroughly  entertained  by  the 
lively  pages.  The  Muir  of  this  book  is 
the  familiar  vibrant  personality.  This 
little  book,  the  record  of  these  trips,  is 
written  in  a  style  animated  and  vivid 
without  being  journalistic— a  style  not 
unlike  that  of  the  lover  of  glaciers  him- 
se\t"—T/ie  Naiwn. 


JOrrN    MITIR   WITH    ALASKA  SPRUCE  CONES 


Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 


By 

S.  HALL  YOUNG 


Illustrated 


New  York        Chicago        Toronto 

Fleming  H.    Revell    Company 

London  and  Edinburgh 


8 


Copyright,  191 5,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  N.  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  St.,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:   100  Princes  Street 


College 
library 


CONTENTS 


I  The  Mountain 

II  The  Rescue 

III  The  Voyage      . 

IV  The  Discovery 
V  The  Lost  Glacier 

VI  The  Dog  and  the  Man 

VII  The  Man  in  Perspective 


II 
37 
59 
95 

125 

163 
201 


1163743 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


John   Muir  with   Alaska   Spruce   Cones 

Title 
Fort  Wrangell 12 

The  Mountain 24 

One  of  the  Marvelous  Array  of  Lakes    .  40 

Glacier — Stickeen  Valley    ....  54 

Chilcat  Woman  Weaving  a  Blanket  .       .  82 

Muir  Glacier         .       .       .       .       .      ..114 

Davidson  Glacier         ......  128 

Taku  Glacier 150 

The  Front  of  Muir  Glacier        .        .        .  168 

Glacial  Crevasses         .       .       .       [.       >  186 

John  Muir  in  Later  Life  .       .       .       .  200 

Map A      A    70 

(Voyages  of  Muir  and  Young) 


THE  MOUNTAIN 


THUNDER  BAY 

Deep  calm  from  God  enfolds  the  land; 
Light  on  the  mountain  top   I  stand ; 
How   peaceful   all,  but  ah,  how  grand! 

Low  lies  the  bay  beneath  my  feet; 

The  bergs  sail  out,  a  white-winged  fleet, 

To  where  the  sky  and  ocean  meet. 

Their  glacier  mother  sleeps  between 
Her  granite  walls.    The  mountains  lean 
Above  her,  trailing  skirts  of  green. 

Each  ancient  brow  is  raised  to  heaven: 
The  snow  streams  always,  tempest-driven, 
Like  hoary  locks,  o'er  chasms  riven 

By  throes  of  Earth.    But,  still  as  sleep, 
No  storm  disturbs  the  quiet  deep 
Where  mirrored  forms  their  silence  keep. 

A  heaven  of   light  beneath  the  sea! 
A  dream  of  worlds  from  shadow   free! 
A  pictured,  bright  eternity ! 

The  azure  domes  above,  below 
(A  crystal  casket),  hold  and  show. 
As  precious  jewels,  gems  of  snow. 

Dark  emerald  islets,  amethyst 

Of   far  horizon,  pearls  of  mist 

In  pendant  clouds,  clear  icebergs,  kissed 

By  wavelets, — sparkling  diamonds  rare 
Quick  flashing  through  the  ambient  air. 
A  ring  of  mountains,  graven  fair 

In  lines  of  grace,  encircles  all. 
Save  where  the  purple  splendors  fall 
On  sky  and  ocean's  bridal-hall. 

The  yellow  river,  broad  and  fleet. 

Winds  through  its  velvet  meadows  sweet— 

A  chain  of  gold  for  jewels  meet. 

Pours  over  all  the  sun's  broad  ray; 
Power,  beauty,  peace,  in  one  array ! 
My  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  this  day. 


THE  MOUNTAIN 

IN  the  summer  of  1879  I  was  sta- 
tioned at  Fort  Wrangell  in  south- 
eastern Alaska,  whither  I  had 
come  the  year  before,  a  green  young 
student  fresh  from  college  and  semi- 
nary— very  green  and  very  fresh — to 
do  what  I  could  towards  establishing 
the  white  man's  civilization  among 
the  Thlinget  Indians.  I  had  very 
many  things  to  learn  and  many  more 
to  unlearn. 

Thither  came  by  the  monthly  mail 
steamboat  in  July  to  aid  and  counsel 
me  in  my  work  three  men  of  national 
reputation — Dr.  Henry  Kendall  of 
New  York;  Dr..  Aaron  L.  Lindsley 
of  Portland,  Oregon,  and  Dr.  Sheldon 
Jackson  of  Denver  and  the  West. 
11 


12    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

Their  wives  accompanied  them  and 
they  were  to  spend  a  month  with 
us. 

Standing  a  little  apart  from  them 
as  the  steamboat  drew  to  the  dock, 
his  peering  blue  eyes  already  eagerly 
scanning  the  islands  and  mountains, 
was  a  lean,  sinewy  man  of  forty,  with 
waving,  reddish-brown  hair  and 
beard,  and  shoulders  slightly  stooped. 
He  wore  a  Scotch  cap  and  a  long, 
gray  tweed  ulster,  which  I  have  al- 
ways since  associated  with  him,  and 
which  seemed  the  same  garment,  un- 
soiled  and  unchanged,  that  he  wore 
later  on  his  northern  trips.  He  was 
introduced  as  Professor  Muir,  the 
Naturalist.  A  hearty  grip  of  the 
hand,  and  we  seemed  to  coalesce  at 
once  in  a  friendship  which,  to  me  at 
least,  has  been  one  of  the  very  best 
things  I  have  known  in  a  life  full  of 
blessings.  From  the  first  he  was  the 
strongest    and    most    attractive    of 


The  Mountain  13 

these  four  fine  personalities  to  me, 
and  I  began  to  recognize  him  as  my 
Master  who  was  to  lead  me  into  en- 
chanting regions  of  beauty  and  mys- 
tery, which  without  his  aid  must 
forever  have  remained  unseen  by  the 
eyes  of  my  soul.  I  sat  at  his  feet; 
and  at  the  feet  of  his  spirit  I  still  sit, 
a  student,  absorbed,  surrendered,  as 
this  "  priest  of  Nature's  inmost 
shrine  "  unfolds  to  me  the  secrets  of 
his  "  mountains  of  God." 

Minor  excursions  culminated  in 
the  chartering  of  the  little  steamer 
Cassiar,  on  which  our  party,  aug- 
mented by  two  or  three  friends, 
steamed  between  the  tremendous  gla- 
ciers and  through  the  columned  can- 
yons of  the  swift  Stickeen  River 
through  the  narrow  strip  of  Alaska's 
cup-handle  to  Glenora,  in  British 
Columbia,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
from  the  river's  mouth.  Our  captain 
was  Nat.   Lane,  a  grandson  of  the 


14    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir  . 

famous  Senator  Joseph  Lane  of  Ore- 
gon. Stocky,  broad-shouldered,  mus- 
cular, given  somewhat  to  strange 
oaths  and  strong  liquids,  and  eying 
askance  our  group  as  we  struck  the 
bargain,  he  was  withal  a  genial,  good- 
natured  man,  and  a  splendid  river 
pilot. 

Dropping  down  from  Telegraph 
Creek  (so  named  because  it  was  a 
principal  station  of  the  great  pro- 
jected trans-American  and  trans- 
Siberian  line  of  the  Western  Union, 
that  bubble  pricked  by  Cyrus  Field's 
cable),  we  tied  up  at  Glenora  about 
noon  of  a  cloudless  day. 

"  Amuse  yourselves,"  said  Captain 
Lane  at  lunch.  "  Here  we  stay  till 
Wo  o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 
This  gale,  blowing  from  the  sea, 
makes  safe  steering  through  the  Can- 
yon impossible,  unless  we  take  the 
morning's  calm." 

I  saw  Muir's  eyes  light  up  with  a 


The  Mountain  15 

peculiar  meaning  as  he  glanced 
quickly  at  me  across  the  table.  He 
knew  the  leading  strings  I  was  in; 
how  those  well-meaning  D.D.s  and 
their  motherly  wives  thought  they 
had  a  special  mission  to  suppress  all 
my  self-destructive  proclivities  to- 
ward dangerous  adventure,  and  es- 
pecially to  protect  me  from  "  that 
wild  Muir "  and  his  hare-brained 
schemes  of  mountain   climbing. 

"  Where  is  it?  "  I  asked,  as  we  met 
behind  the  pilot  house  a  moment 
later. 

He  pointed  to  a  little  group  of 
jagged  peaks  rising  right  up  from 
where  we  stood — a  pulpit  in  the  cen- 
ter of  a  vast  rotunda  of  magnificent 
mountains.  "  One  of  the  finest  view- 
points in  the  world,"  he  said. 

"  How  far  to  the  highest  point?  " 

"About  ten  miles." 

"How  high?" 

"Seven  or  eight  thousand  feet." 


16    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

That  was  enough.  I  caught  the 
D.D.s  with  guile.  There  were  Stick- 
een  Indians  there  catching  salmon, 
and  among  them  Chief  Shakes,  who 
our  interpreter  said  was  "  The 
youngest  but  the  headest  Chief  of 
all."  Last  night's  palaver  had  whet- 
ted the  appetites  of  both  sides  for 
more.  On  the  part  of  the  Indians,  a 
talk  with  these  "  Great  White  Chiefs 
from  Washington  "  offered  unlimited 
possibilities  for  material  favor;  and 
to  the  good  divines  the  "  simple  faith 
and  childlike  docility  "  of  these  chil- 
dren of  the  forest  were  a  constant 
delight.  And  then  how  well  their 
high-flown  compliments  and  flowery 
metaphors  would  sound  in  article 
and  speech  to  the  wondering  East! 
So  I  sent  Stickeen  Johnny,  the  in- 
terpreter, to  call  the  natives  to  an- 
other hyou  wawa  (big  talk)  and, 
note-book  in  hand,  the  doctors  "  went 
gayly  to  the  fray."    I  set  the  speeches 


The  Mountain  17 

a-going,  and  then  slipped  out  to  join 
the  impatient  Muir. 

"  Take  off  your  coat,"  he  com- 
manded, "  and  here's  your  supper." 

Pocketing  two  hardtacks  apiece 
we  were  off,  keeping  in  shelter  of 
house  and  bush  till  out  of  sight  of 
the  council-house  and  the  flower- 
picking  ladies.  Then  we  broke  out. 
What  a  matchless  climate!  What 
sweet,  lung-filling  air!  Sunshine 
that  had  no  weakness  in  it — as  if  we 
were  springing  plants.  Our  sinews 
like  steel  springs,  muscles  like  India 
rubber,  feet  soled  with  iron  to  grip 
the  rocks.  Ten  miles?  Eight  thou- 
sand feet?  Why,  I  felt  equal  to 
forty  miles  and  the  Matterhorn! 

"Eh,  mon!"  said  Muir,  lapsing 
into  the  broad  Scotch  he  was  so  fond 
of  using  when  enjoying  himself, 
"  ye'U  see  the  sicht  o'  yer  life  the 
day.  Ye'll  get  that'll  be  o'  mair  use 
'till  ye  than  a'  the  gowd  o'  Cassiar." 


18    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

From  the  first,  it  was  a  hard  climb. 
Fallen  timber  at  the  mountain's  foot 
covered  with  thick  brush  swallowed 
us  up  and  plucked  us  back.  Beyond, 
on  the  steeper  slopes,  grew  dwarf 
evergreens,  five  or  six  feet  high — the 
same  fir  that  towers  a  hundred  feet 
with  a  diameter  of  three  or  four  on 
the  river  banks,  but  here  stunted  by 
icy  mountain  winds.  The  curious 
blasting  of  the  branches  on  the  side 
next  to  the  mountain  gave  them  the 
appearance  of  long-armed,  hump- 
backed, hairy  gnomes,  bristling  with 
anger,  stretching  forbidding  arms 
downwards  to  bar  our  passage  to 
their  sacred  heights.  Sometimes  an 
inviting  vista  through  the  branches 
would  lure  us  in,  when  it  would  nar- 
row, and  at  its  upper  angle  we  would 
find  a  solid  phalanx  of  these  grumpy 
dwarfs.  Then  we  had  to  attack 
boldly,  scrambling  over  the  obstinate, 
elastic  arms  and  against  the  clusters 


The  Mountain  19 

of  stiff  needles,  till  we  gained  the 
upper  side  and  found  another  green 
slope, 

Muir  led,  of  course,  picking  with 
sure  instinct  the  easiest  way.  Three 
hours  of  steady  work  brought  us 
suddenly  beyond  the  timber-line,  and 
the  real  joy  of  the  day  began.  No- 
where else  have  I  see  anything  ap- 
proaching the  luxuriance  and  variety 
of  delicate  blossoms  shown  by  these 
high,  mountain  pastures  of  the 
North.  "  You  scarce  could  see  the 
grass  for  flowers."  Everything  that 
was  marvelous  in  form,  fair  in  color, 
or  sweet  in  fragrance  seemed  to 
be  represented  there,  from  daisies 
and  campanulas  to  Muir's  favorite, 
the  cassiope,  with  its  exquisite  little 
pink-white  bells  shaped  like  lilies-of- 
the-valley  and  its  subtle  perfume. 
Muir  at  once  went  wild  when  we 
reached  this  fairyland.  From  cluster 
to  cluster  of  flowers  he  ran,  falling 


20    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

on  his  knees,  babbling  in  unknown 
'tongues,  prattling  a  curious  mixture 
of  scientific  lingo  and  baby  talk,  wor- 
shiping his  little  blue-and-pink  god- 
desses. 

"Ah!  my  blue-eyed  darlin',  little 
did  I  think  to  see  you  here.  How 
did  you  stray  away  from  Shasta?" 

"Well,  well!  Who'd  V  thought 
that  you'd  have  left  that  niche  in 
the  Merced  mountains  to  come 
here!" 

"And  who  might  you  be,  now, 
with  your  wonder  look?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  can  be  (two  Latin 
polysyllables)  ?  You're  lost,  my  dear; 
you  belong  in  Tennessee." 

"  Ah !  I  thought  I'd  find  you,  my 
homely  little  sweetheart,"  and  so  on 
unceasingly. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  this  ama- 
tory botany  that  he  seemed  to  forget 
my  existence.  While  I,  as  glad  as 
he,   tagged   along,   running  up   and 


The  Mountain  21 

down  with  him,  asking  now  and 
then  a  question,  learning  something 
of  plant  life,  but  far  more  of  that 
spiritual  insight  into  Nature's  lore 
which  is  granted  only  to  those  who 
love  and  woo  her  in  her  great  out- 
door palaces.  But  how  I  anathema- 
tized my  short-sighted  foolishness 
for  having  as  a  student  at  old  Woos- 
ter  shirked  botany  for  the  "  more 
important"  studies  of  language  and 
metaphysics.  For  here  was  a  man 
whose  natural  science  had  a  thor- 
ough technical  basis,  while  the  super- 
structure was  built  of  "  lively  stones,'* 
and  was  itself  a  living  temple  of 
love! 

With  all  his  boyish  enthusiasm, 
Muir  was  a  most  painstaking  stu- 
dent; and  any  unsolved  question  lay 
upon  his  mind  like  a  personal  griev- 
ance until  it  was  settled  to  his  full 
understanding.  One  plant  after  an- 
other,  with   its   sand-covered   roots, 


22    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

went  into  his  pockets,  his  handker- 
chief and  the  "  full "  of  his  shirt, 
until  he  was  bulbing  and  sprouting 
all  over,  and  could  carry  no  more. 
He  was  taking  them  to  the  boat  to 
analyze  and  compare  at  leisure. 
Then  he  began  to  requisition  my 
receptacles.  I  stood  it  while  he 
stuffed  my  pockets,  but  rebelled 
when  he  tried  to  poke  the  prickly, 
scratchy  things  inside  my  shirt.  I 
had  not  yet  attained  that  sublime 
indifference  to  physical  comfort,  that 
Nirvana  of  passivity,  that  Muir  had 
found. 

Hours  had  passed  in  this  entranc- 
ing work  and  we  were  progressing 
upwards  but  slowly.  We  were  on 
the  southeastern  slope  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  the  sun  was  still  staring  at 
us  from  a  cloudless  sky.  Suddenly 
we  were  in  the  shadow  as  we  worked 
around  a  spur  of  rock.  Muir  looked 
up,  startled.    Then  he  jammed  home 


The  Mountain  28 

his  last  handful  of  plants,  and  hast- 
ened up  to  where  I  stood. 

"Man!"  he  said,  "I  was  forget- 
ting. We'll  have  to  hurry  now  or 
we'll  miss  it,  we'll  miss  it." 

"Miss  what?"  I  asked. 

"The  jewel  of  the  day,"  he  an- 
swered; "the  sight  of  the  sunset 
from  the  top." 

Then  Muir  began  to  slide  up  that 
mountain.  I  had  been  with  moun- 
tain climbers  before,  but  never  one 
like  him.  A  deer-lope  over  the 
smoother  slopes,  a  sure  instinct  for 
the  easiest  way  into  a  rocky  fortress, 
an  instant  and  unerring  attack,  a  ser- 
pent-glide up  the  steep;  eye,  hand 
and  foot  all  connected  dynamically; 
with  no  appearance  of  weight  to  his 
body — as  though  he  had  Stockton's 
negative  gravity  machine  strapped 
on  his  back. 

Fifteen  years  of  enthusiastic  study 
among  the  Sierras  had  given  him  the 


24    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

same  pre-eminence  over  the  ordinary 
climber  as  the  Big  Horn  of  the 
Rockies  shows  over  the  Cotswold. 
It  v^as  only  by  exerting  myself  to 
the  limit  of  my  strength  that  I  v^^as 
able  to  keep  near  him.  His  example 
was  at  the  same  time  my  inspiration 
and  despair.  I  longed  for  him  to 
stop  and  rest,  but  would  not  have 
suggested  it  for  the  world.  I  would 
at  least  be  game,  and  furnish  no  hinf 
as  to  how  tired  I  was,  no  matter  how 
chokingly  my  heart  thumped.  Muir's 
spirit  was  in  me,  and  my  "  chief  end," 
just  then,  was  to  win  that  peak  with 
him.  The  impending  calamity  of 
being  beaten  by  the  sun  was  not  to 
be  contemplated  without  horror. 
The  loss  of  a  fortune  would  be  as 
nothing  to  that! 

We  were  now  beyond  the  flower 
garden  of  the  gods,  in  a  land  of 
rocks  and  cliffs,  with  patches  of  short 
grass,  caribou  moss  and  lichens  be- 


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The  Mountain  25 

tween.  Along  a  narrowing  arm  of 
the  mountain,  a  deep  canyon  flumed 
a  rushing  torrent  of  icy  water  from 
a  small  glacier  on  our  right.  Then 
came  moraine  matter,  rounded  peb- 
bles and  boulders,  and  beyond  them 
the  glacier.  Once  a  giant,  it  is  noth- 
ing but  a  baby  now,  but  the  ice  is 
still  blue  and  clear,  and  the  crevasses 
many  and  deep.  And  that  day  it  had 
to  be  crossed,  which  was  a  ticklish 
task.  A  misstep  or  slip  might  land 
us  at  once  fairly  into  the  heart  of  the 
glacier,  there  to  be  preserved  in  cold 
storage  for  the  wonderment  of  fu- 
ture generations.  But  glaciers  were 
Muir's  special  pets,  his  intimate  com- 
panions, with  whom  he  held  sweet 
communion.  Their  voices  were  plain 
language  to  his  ears,  their  work,  as 
God's  landscape  gardeners,  of  the  wis- 
est and  best  that  Nature  could  offer. 

No  Swiss  guide  was  ever  wiser  in 
the  habits  of  glaciers  than  Muir,  or 


26    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

proved  to  be  a  better  pilot  across  their 
deathly  crevasses.  Half  a  mile  of 
careful  walking  and  jumping  and  we 
were  on  the  ground  again,  at  the  base 
of  the  great  cliff  of  metamorphic 
slate  that  crowned  the  summit. 
Muir's  aneroid  barometer  showed  a 
height  of  about  seven  thousand 
feet,  and  the  wall  of  rock  towered 
threateningly  above  us,  leaning  out  in 
places,  a  thousand  feet  or  so  above 
the  glacier.  But  the  earth-fires  that 
had  melted  and  heaved  it,  the  ice 
mass  that  chiseled  and  shaped  it,  the 
wind  and  rain  that  corroded  and 
crumbled  it,  had  left  plenty  of  bricks 
out  of  that  battlement,  had  covered 
its  face  with  knobs  and  horns,  had 
ploughed  ledges  and  cleaved  fissures 
and  fastened  crags  and  pinnacles 
upon  it,  so  that,  while  its  surface  was 
full  of  man-traps  and  blind  ways,  the 
human  spider  might  still  find  some 
hold  for  his  claws. 


^/-^ 


The  Mountain  27 

The  shadows  were  dark  upon  us, 
but  the  lofty,  icy  peaks  of  the  main 
range  still  lay  bathed  in  the  golden 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  There  was 
no  time  to  be  lost.  A  quick  glance 
to  the  right  and  left,  and  Muir,  who 
had  steered  his  course  wisely  across 
the  glacier,  attacked  the  cliff,  simply 
saying,  *'  We  must  climb  cautiously 
here." 

Now  came  the  most  wonderful  dis- 
play of  his  mountain-craft.  Had  I 
been  alone  at  the  feet  of  these  crags 
I  should  have  said,  "  It  can't  be 
done,"  and  have  turned  back  down 
the  mountain.  But  Muir  was  my 
"  control,"  as  the  Spiritists  say,  and 
I  never  thought  of  doing  anything 
else  but  following  him.  He  thought 
he  could  climb  up  there  and  that 
settled  it.  He  would  do  what  he 
thought  he  could.  And  such  climb- 
ing! There  was  never  an  instant 
when  both  feet  and  hands  were  not  in 


28    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

play,  and  often  elbows,  knees,  thighs, 
upper  arms,  and  even  chin  must  grip 
and  hold.  Clambering  up  a  steep 
slope,  crawling  under  an  overhang- 
ing rock,  spreading  out  like  a  flying 
squirrel  and  edging  along  an  inch- 
wide  projection  while  fingers  clasped 
knobs  above  the  head,  bending  about 
sharp  angles,  pulling  up  smooth  rock- 
faces  by  sheer  strength  of  arm  and 
chinning  over  the  edge,  leaping  fis- 
sures, sliding  flat  around  a  dangerous 
rock-breast,  testing  crumbly  spurs 
before  risking  his  weight,  always 
going  up,  up,  no  hesitation,  no  pause 
— that  was  Muir!  My  task  was  the 
ligffEe'r  one ;  he  did  the  head-work,  I 
had  but  to  imitate.  The  thin  frag- 
ment of  projecting  slate  that  stood 
the  weight  of  his  one  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  would  surely  sustain 
my  hundred  and  thirty.  As  far  as 
possible  I  did  as  he  did,  took  his 
hand-holds,  and  stepped  in  his  steps. 


The  Mountain  29' 

But  I  was  handicapped  in  a  way 
that  Muir  was  ignorant  of,  and  I 
would  not  tell  him  for  fear  of  his' 
veto  upon  my  climbing.  My  legs 
were  all  right — hard  and  sinewy; 
my  body  light  and  supple,  my  wind 
good,  my  nerves  steady  (heights  did 
not  make  me  dizzy) ;  but  my  arms — 
there  lay  the  trouble.  Ten  years  be- 
fore I  had  been  fond  of  breaking 
colts — till  the  colts  broke  me.  On 
successive  summers  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, two  colts  had  fallen  with  me 
and  dislocated  first  my  left  shoulder, 
then  my  right.  Since  that  both  arms 
had  been  out  of  joint  more  than  once. 
My  left  was  especially  weak.  It 
would  not  sustain  my  weight,  and  T 
had  to  favor  it  constantly.  Now 
and  again,  as  I  pulled  myself  up  some 
difficult  reach  I  could  feel  the  head 
of  the  humerus  move  from  its  socket. 

Muir    climbed    so    fast    that    his 
movements  were  almost  like  flying. 


30    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

legs  and  arms  moving  with  perfect 
precision  and  unfailing  judgment.  I 
must  keep  close  behind  him  or  I 
would  fail  to  see  his  points  of  van- 
tage. But  the  pace  was  a  killing  one 
for  me.  As  we  neared  the  summit 
my  strength  began  to  fail,  my  breath 
to  come  in  gasps,  my  muscles  to 
twitch.  The  overwhelming  fear  of 
losing  sight  of  my  guide,  of  being 
left  behind  and  failing  to  see  that 
sunset,  grew  upon  me,  and  I  hurled 
myself  blindly  at  every  fresh  ob- 
stacle, determined  to  keep  up.  At 
length  we  climbed  upon  a  little  shelf, 
a  foot  or  two  wide,  that  corkscrewed 
to  the  left.  Here  we  paused  a  mo- 
ment to  take  breath  and  look  around 
us.  We  had  ascended  the  cliff  some 
nine  hundred  and  fifty  feet  from  the 
glacier,  and  were  within  forty  or 
fifty  feet  of  the  top. 

Among  the   much-prized   gifts   of 
this  good  world  one  of  the  very  rich- 


o 
fcx 


o     ^ 


Ul 


o 

o 


The  INIountain  3l 

est  was  given  to  me  in  that  hour.  It 
is  securely  locked  in  the  safe  of  my 
memory  and  nobody  can  rob  me  of  it 
— an  imperishable  treasure.  Stand- 
ing out  on  the  rounded  neck  of  the 
cliff  and  facing  the  southwest,  we 
could  see  on  three  sides  of  us.  The 
view  was  much  the  finest  of  all  my 
experience.  We  seemed  to  stand  on 
a  high  rostrum  in  the  center  of  the 
greatest  amphitheater  in  the  world. 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  the  level  sun 
flooding  all  the  landscape  with 
golden  light.  From  the  base  of  the 
mountain  on  which  we  stood 
stretched  the  rolling  upland.  Strik- 
ing boldly  across  our  front  was  the 
deep  valley  of  the  Stickeen,  a  line  of 
foliage,  light  green  cottonwoods  and 
darker  alders,  sprinkled  with  black 
fir  and  spruce,  through  which  the 
river  gleamed  with  a  silvery  sheen, 
now  spreading  wide  among  its  isl- 
ands,   now    foaming   white    through 


32    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

narrow  canyons.  Beyond,  among 
the  undulating  hills,  was  a  marvel- 
ous array  of  lakes.  There  must 
have  been  thirty  or  forty  of  them, 
from  the  pond  of  an  acre  to  the  wide 
sheet  two  or  three  miles  across.  The 
strangely  elongated  and  rounded  hills 
had  the  appearance  of  giants  in  bed, 
wrapped  in  many-colored  blankets, 
while  the  lakes  were  their  deep,  blue 
eyes,  lashed  with  dark  evergreens, 
gazing  steadfastly  heavenward.  Look 
long  at  these  recumbent  forms  and 
you  will  see  the  heaving  of  their 
breasts. 

The  whole  landscape  was  aler?, 
expectant  of  glory.  Around  this 
great  camp  of  prostrate  Cyclops 
there  stood  an  unbroken  semicircle 
of  mighty  peaks  in  solemn  grandeur, 
some  hoary-headed,  some  with  locks 
of  brown,  but  all  wearing  white  gla- 
cier collars.  The  taller  peaks  seemed 
almost  sharp  enough  to  be  the  hel- 


The  Mountain  83 

mets  and  spears  of  watchful  senti- 
nels. And  the  colors!  Great 
stretches  of  crimson  fireweed,  acres 
and  acres  of  them,  smaller  patches 
of  dark  blue  lupins,  and  hills  of 
shaded  yellow,  red,  and  brown,  the 
many-shaded  green  of  the  woods,  the 
amethyst  and  purple  of  the  far  hori- 
zon— who  can  tell  it?  We  did  not 
stand  there  more  than  two  or  three 
minutes,  but  the  whole  wonderful 
scene  is  deeply  etched  on  the  tablet 
of  my  memory,  a  photogravure  never 
to  be  effaced. 


THE  RESCUE 


THE  MOUNTAIN'S  FAITH 

At  eventide,  upon  a  dreary  sea, 

I  watched  a  mountain  rear  its  hoary  head 

To  look  with  steady  gaze  in  the  near  heaven. 

The  earth  was  cold  and  still.    No  sound  was  heard 

But  the  dream-voices  of  the  sleeping  sea. 

The  mountain  drew  its  gray  cloud-mantle  close, 

Like  Roman  senator,  erect  and  old, 

Raising  aloft  an  earnest  brow  and  calm. 

With  upward  look  intent  of  steadfast  faith. 

The  sky  was  dim;  no  glory-light  shone  forth 

To  crown  the  mountain's  faith;  which  faltered  not, 

But,  ever  hopeful,  waited  patiently. 

At  morn  I  looked  again.    Expectance  sat 
Of  imminent  glory  on  the  mountain's  brow. 
And,  in  a  moment,  lo!  the  glory  came! 
An  angel's  hand  rolled  back  a  crimson  cloud. 
Deep,  rose-red  light  of  wondrous  tone  and  power— 
A  crown  of  matchless  splendor — graced  its  head, 
Majestic,  kingly,  pure  as  Heaven,  yet  warm 
With  earthward  love.     A  motion,  like  a  heart 
With  rich  blood  beating,  seemed  to  sway  and  pulse. 
With  might  of  ecstasy,  the  granite  peak. 
A  poem  grand  it  was  of  Love  Divine — 
An  anthem,  sweet  and  strong,  of  praise  to  God — 
A  victory-peal  from  barren  fields  of  death. 
Its  gaze  was  heavenward  still,  but  earthward  too— 
For  Love  seeks  not  her  own,  and  joy  is  full, 
Only  when  freest  given.    The  sun  shone  forth, 
And  now  the  mountain  doffed  its  ruby  crown 
For  one  of  diamonds.    Still  the  light  streamed  down; 
'  No  longer  chill  and  bleak,  the  morning  glowed 
With  warmth  and  light,  and  clouds  of  fiery  hue 
Mantled  the  crystal  glacier's  chilly  stream. 
And  all  the  landscape  throbbed  with  sudden  joy. 


II 

THE  RESCUE 

MUIR  was  the  first  to  awake 
from  his  trance.  Like  Schil- 
ler's king  in  "The  Diver," 
"  Nothing  could  slake  his  wild  thirst 
of  desire." 

"The  sunset,"  he  cried;  "we  must 
have  the  whole  horizon." 

Then  he  started  running  along  the 
ledge  like  a  mountain  goat,  working 
to  get  around  the  vertical  cliff  above 
us  to  find  an  ascent  on  the  other 
side.  He  was  soon  out  of  sight,  al- 
though I  followed  as  fast  as  I  could. 
I  heard  him  shout  something,  but 
could  not  make  out  his  words.  I 
know  now  he  was  warning  me 
of  a  dangerous  place.  Then  I  came 
to    a    sharp-cut    fissure    which    lay 

27 


38    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

across  my  path — a  gash  in  the  rock, 
as  if  one  of  the  Cyclops  had  struck 
it  with  his  axe.  It  sloped  very 
steeply  for  some  twelve  feet  below, 
opening  on  the  face  of  the  precipice 
above  the  glacier,  and  was  filled  to 
within  about  four  feet  of  the  surface 
with  flat,  slaty  gravel.  It  was  only 
four  or  five  feet  across,  and  I  could 
easily  have  leaped  it  had  I  not  been 
so  tired.  But  a  rock  the  size  of  my 
head  projected  from  the  slippery 
stream  of  gravel.  In  my  haste  to 
overtake  Muir  I  did  not  stop  to  make 
sure  this  stone  was  part  of  the  cliff, 
but  stepped  with  springing  force 
upon  it  to  cross  the  fissure.  In- 
stantly the  stone  melted  away  be- 
neath my  feet,  and  I  shot  with  it 
down  towards  the  precipice.  With 
my  peril  sharp  upon  me  I  cried  out 
as  I  whirled  on  my  face,  and  struck 
out  both  hands  to  grasp  the  rock  on 
either  side. 


The  Rescue  39 

Falling  forward  hard,  my  hands 
struck  the  walls  of  the  chasm,  my 
arms  were  twisted  behind  me,  and 
instantly  both  shoulders  were  dislo- 
cated. With  my  paralyzed  arms 
flopping  helplessly  above  my  head,  I 
slid  swiftly  down  the  narrow  chasm. 
Instinctively  I  flattened  down  on  the 
sliding  gravel,  digging  my  chin  and 
toes  into  it  to  check  my  descent; 
but  not  until  my  feet  hung  out  over 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  did  I  feel  that  I 
had  stopped.  Even  then  I  dared  not 
breathe  or  stir,  so  precarious  was 
my  hold  on  that  treacherous  shale. 
Every  moment  I  seemed  to  be  slip- 
ping inch  by  inch  to  the  point  when 
all  would  give  way  and  I  would  go 
whirling  down  to  the  glacier. 

After  the  first  wild  moment  of 
panic  when  I  felt  myself  falling,  I 
do  not  remember  any  sense  of  fear. 
But  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  thou- 
sand   thoughts    flash    through    the 


40    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

brain  in  a  single  instant — an  an- 
guished thought  of  my  young  wife 
at  Wfangell,  with  her  imminent 
motherhood;  an  indignant  thought  of 
the  insurance  companies  that  refused 
me  policies  on  my  life;  a  thought  of 
wonder  as  to  what  would  become  of 
my  poor  flocks  of  Indians  among  the 
islands;  recollections  of  events  far 
and  near  in  time,  important  and 
trivial;  but  each  thought  printed 
upon  my  memory  by  the  instanta- 
neous photography  of  deadly  peril.  I 
had  no  hope  of  escape  at  all.  The 
gravel  was  rattling  past  me  and  pil- 
ing up  against  my  head.  The  jar  of 
a  little  rock,  and  all  would  be  over. 
The  situation  was  too  desperate  for 
actual  fear.  Dull  wonder  as  to  how 
long  I  would  be  in  the  air,  and  the 
hope  that  death  would  be  instant — 
that  was  all.  Then  came  the  wish 
that  Muir  would  come  before  I  fell, 
and  take  a  message  to  my  wife. 


The  Rescue  41 

Suddenly  I  heard  his  voice  right 
above  me.  "My  God!"  he  cried. 
Then  he  added,  "  Grab  that  rock, 
man,  just  by  your  right  hand." 

I  gurgled  from  my  throat,  not 
daring  to  inflate  my  lungs,  "  My 
arms  are  out." 

There  v^as  a  pause.  Then  his 
voice  rang  again,  cheery,  confident, 
unexcited,  "Hold  fast;  I'm  going  to 
get  you  out  of  this.  I  can't  get  to 
you  on  this  side;  the  rock  is  sheer. 
I'll  have  to  leave  you  now  and  cross 
the  rift  high  up  and  come  down  to 
you  on  the  other  side  by  which  we 
came.     Keep  cool." 

Then  I  heard  him  going  away, 
whistling  "  The  Blue  Bells  of  Scot- 
land," singing  snatches  of  Scotch 
songs,  calling  to  me,  his  voice  now 
receding,  as  the  rocks  intervened, 
then  sounding  louder  as  he  came  out 
on  the  face  of  the  cliff.  But  in  me 
hope  surged  at  full  tide.     I  enter- 


42    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

tained  no  more  thoughts  of  last  mes- 
sages. I  did  not  see  how  he  could 
possibly  do  it,  but  he  was  John  Muir, 
and  I  had  seen  his  wonderful  rock- 
work.  So  I  determined  not  to  fall 
and  made  myself  as  flat  and  heavy 
as  possible,  not  daring  to  twitch  a 
muscle  or  wink  an  eyelid,  for  I  still 
felt  myself  slipping,  slipping  down 
the  greasy  slate.  And  now  a  new 
peril  threatened.  A  chill  ran  through 
me  of  cold  and  nervousness,  and  I 
slid  an  inch.  I  suppressed  the  grow- 
ing shivers  with  all  my  will.  I 
would  keep  perfectly  quiet  till  Muir 
came  back.  The  sickening  pain  in 
my  shoulders  increased  till  it  was 
torture,  and  I  could  not  ease  it. 

It  seemed  like  hours,  but  it  was 
really  only  about  ten  minutes  before 
he  got  back  to  me.  By  that  time  I 
hung  so  far  over  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  that  it  seemed  impossible 
that    I    could    last    another    second. 


The  Rescue  43 

Now  I  heard  Muir's  voice,  low  and 
steady,  close  to  me,  and  it  seemed  a 
little  below. 

"  Hold  steady,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have 
to  swing  you  out  over  the  cliff." 

Then  I  felt  a  careful  hand  on  my 
back,  fumbling  with  the  waistband  of 
my  pants,  my  vest  and  shirt,  gather- 
ing all  in  a  firm  grip.  I  could  see 
only  with  one  eye  and  that  looked 
upon  but  a  foot  or  two  of  gravel  on 
the  other  side. 

"Now!"  he  said,  and  I  slid  out 
of  the  cleft  with  a  rattling  shower 
of  stones  and  gravel.  My  head 
swung  down,  my  impotent  arms 
dangling,  and  I  stared  straight  at 
the  glacier,  a  thousand  feet  below. 
Then  my  feet  came  against  the  cliff. 

"  Work  downwards  with  your 
feet." 

I  obeyed.  He  drew  me  close  to 
him  by  crooking  his  arm  and  as  my 
head  came  up  past  his  level  he  caught 


44    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

me  by  my  collar  with  his  teeth!  My 
feet  struck  the  little  two-inch  shelf 
on  which  he  was  standing,  and  I 
could  see  Muir,  flattened  against  the 
face  of  the  rock  and  facing  it,  his 
right  hand  stretched  up  and  clasping 
a  little  spur,  his  left  holding  me  with 
an  iron  grip,  his  head  bent  sideways, 
as  my  weight  drew  it.  I  felt  as  alert 
and  cool  as  he. 

"  I've  got  to  let  go  of  you,"  he 
hissed  through  his  clenched  teeth. 
"  I  need  both  hands  here.  Climb  up- 
ward with  your  feet." 

How  he  did  it,  I  know  not.  The 
miracle  grows  as  I  ponder  it.  The 
wall  was  almost  perpendicular  and 
smooth.  My  weight  on  his  jaws 
dragged  him  outwards.  And  yet, 
holding  me  by  his  teeth  as  a  panther 
her  cub  and  clinging  like  a  squirrel 
to  a  tree,  he  climbed  with  me  straight 
up  ten  or  twelve  feet,  with  only  the 
help  of  my  iron-shod  feet  scrambling 


The  Rescue  45. 

on  the  rock.    It  was  utterly  impossi- 
ble, yet  he  did  it ! 

When  he  landed  me  on  the  little 
shelf  along  which  we  had  come,  my 
nerve  gave  way  and  I  trembled  all 
over.  I  sank  down  exhausted,  Muir 
only  less  tired,  but  supporting  me. 

The  sun  had  set;  the  air  was  icy 
cold  and  we  had  no  coats.  We  would 
soon  chill  through.  Muir's  task  of 
rescue  had  only  begun  and  no  time 
was  to  be  lost.  In  a  minute  he  was 
up  again,  examining  my  shoulders. 
The  right  one  had  an  upward  dislo- 
cation, the  ball  of  the  humerus  rest- 
ing on  the  process  of  the  scapula, 
the  rim  of  the  cup.  I  told  him  how, 
and  he  soon  snapped  the  bone  into  its 
socket.  But  the  left  was  a  harder 
proposition.  The  luxation  was 
downward  and  forward,  and  the 
strong,  nervous  reaction  of  the  mus- 
cles had  pulled  the  head  of  the 
bone  deep  into  my  armpit.     There 


46    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

was  no  room  to  work  on  that  narrow 
ledge.  All  that  could  be  done  was 
to  make  a  rude  sling  with  one  of  my 
suspenders  and  our  handkerchiefs,  so 
as  to  both  support  the  elbow  and 
keep  the  arm  from  swinging. 

Then  came  the  task  to  get  down 
that  terrible  wall  to  the  glacier,  by 
the  only  practicable  way  down  the 
mountain  that  Muir,  after  a  careful 
search,  could  find.  Again  I  am  at 
loss  to  know  how  he  accomplished 
it.  For  an  unencumbered  man  to 
descend  it  in  the  deepening  dusk  was 
a  most  difficult  task;  but  to  get  a  tot- 
tery, nerve-shaken,  pain-wracked 
cripple  down  was  a  feat  of  positive 
wonder.  My  right  arm,  though  in 
place,  was  almost  helpless.  I  could 
only  move  my  forearm;  the  muscles 
of  the  upper  part  simply  refusing  to 
obey  my  will.  Muir  would  let  him- 
self down  to  a  lower  shelf,  brace  him- 
self, and  I  would  get  my  right  hand 


The  Rescue  47 

against  him,  crawl  my  fingers  over 
his  shoulder  until  the  arm  hung  in 
front  of  him,  and  falling  against  him, 
would  be  eased  down  to  his  standing 
ground.  Sometimes  he  would  pack 
me  a  short  distance  on  his  back. 
Again,  taking  me  by  the  wrist,  he 
would  swing  me  down  to  a  lower 
shelf,  before  descending  himself.  My 
right  shoulder  came  out  three  times 
that  night,  and  had  to  be  reset. 

It  was  dark  when  we  reached  the 
base;  there  was  no  moon  and  it  was 
very  cold.  The  glacier  provided  an 
operating  table,  and  I  lay  on  the  ice 
for  an  hour  while  Muir,  having  slit 
the  sleeve  of  my  shirt  to  the  collar, 
tugged  and  twisted  at  my  left  arm 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  set  it.  But  the 
ball  was  too  deep  in  its  false  socket, 
and  all  his  pulling  only  bruised  and 
made  it  swell.  So  he  had  to  do  up 
the  arm  again,  and  tie  it  tight  to  my 
body.     It  must  have  been  near  mid- 


48    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

night  when  we  left  the  foot  of  the 
cliff  and  started  down  the  mountain. 
We  had  ten  hard  miles  to  go,  and 
no  supper,  for  the  hardtack  had  dis- 
appeared ere  we  were  half-way  up 
the  mountain.  Muir  dared  not  take 
me  across  the  glacier  in  the  dark;  I 
was  too  weak  to  jump  the  crevasses. 
So  we  skirted  it  and  came,  after  a 
mile,  to  the  head  of  a  great  slide  of 
gravel,  the  fine  moraine  matter  of 
the  receding  glacier.  Muir  sat  down 
on  the  gravel;  I  sat  against  him  with 
my  feet  on  either  side  and  my  arm 
over  his  shoulder.  Then  he  began 
to  hitch  and  kick,  and  presently  we 
were  sliding  at  great  speed  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  A  full  half-mile  we  flew, 
and  were  almost  buried  when  we 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  slide.  It 
was  the  easiest  part  of  our  trip. 

Now  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
canyon,  down  which  tumbled  the  gla- 
cial stream,  and  far  beneath  the  ridge 


The  Rescue  49 

along  which  we  had  ascended.  The 
sides  of  the  canyon  were  sheer  cliffs. 

"  We'll  try  it,"  said  Muir.  "  Some- 
times these  canyons  are  passable." 

But  the  way  grew  rougher  as  we 
descended.  The  rapids  became  falls 
and  we  often  had  to  retrace  our  steps 
to  find  a  way  around  them.  After 
we  reached  the  timber-line,  some 
four  miles  from  the  summit,  the  go- 
ing was  still  harder,  for  we  had  a 
thicket  of  alders  and  willows  to  fight. 
Here  Muir  offered  to  make  a  fire  and 
leave  me  while  he  went  forward  for 
assistance,  but  I  refused.  "  No,"  I 
said,  "  I'm  going  to  make  it  to  the 
boat." 

All  that  night  this  man  of  steel 
and  lightning  worked,  never  resting 
a  minute,  doing  the  work  of  three 
men,  helping  me  along  the  slopes, 
easing  me  down  the  rocks,  pulling 
me  up  cliffs,  dashing  water  on  me 
when   I  grew   faint  with   the   pain; 


50    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

and  always  cheery,  full  of  talk  and 
anecdote,  cracking  jokes  with  me, 
infusing  me  with  his  own  indomi- 
table spirit.  He  was  eyes,  hands, 
feet,  and  heart  to  me — my  care- 
taker, in  whom  I  trusted  absolutely. 
My  eyes  brim  with  tears  even  now 
when  I  think  of  his  utter  self-aban- 
don as  he  ministered  to  my  infirmi- 
ties. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
we  came  to  a  fall  that  we  could  not 
compass,  sheer  a  hundred  feet  or 
more.  So  we  had  to  attack  the  steep 
walls  of  the  canyon.  After  a  hard 
struggle  we  were  on  the  mountain 
ridges  again,  traversing  the  flower 
pastures,  creeping  through  openings 
in  the  brush,  scrambling  over  the 
dwarf  fir,  then  down  through  the 
fallen  timber.  It  was  half-past  seven 
o'clock  when  we  descended  the  last 
slope  and  found  the  path  to  Glenora. 
Here    we    met    a    straggling    party 


The  Rescue  51 

of  whites  and  Indians  just  start- 
ing out  to  search  the  mountain  for 
us. 

As  I  was  coming  wearily  up  the 
teetering  gang-plank,  feeling  as  if  I 
couldn't  keep  up  another  minute,  Dr. 
Kendall  stepped  upon  its  end,  barring 
my  passage,  bent  his  bushy  white 
brows  upon  me  from  his  six  feet  of 
height,  and  began  to  scold: 

"  See  here,  young  man;  give  an  ac- 
count of  yourself.  Do  you  know 
you've  kept  us  waiting " 

Just  then  Captain  Lane  jumped 
forward  to  help  me,  digging  the  old 
Doctor  of  Divinity  with  his  elbow  in 
the  stomach  and  nearly  knocking 
him  off  the  boat. 

"Oh,  hell!"  he  roared.  "Can't 
you  see  the  man's  hurt?" 

Mrs.  Kendall  was  a  very  tall,  thin, 
severe-looking  old  lady,  with  face 
lined  with  grief  by  the  loss  of  her 
children.      She    never    smiled.      She 


52    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

had  not  gone  to  bed  at  all  that  night, 
but  walked  the  deck  and  would  not 
let  her  husband  or  the  others  sleep. 
Soon  after  daylight  she  began  to  lash 
the  men  with  the  whip  of  her  tongue 
for  their  "  cowardice  and  inhuman- 
ity "  in  not  starting  at  once  to  search 
for  me. 

"  Mr.  Young  is  undoubtedly  lying 
mangled  at  the  foot  of  a  cliff,  or 
else  one  of  those  terrible  bears  has 
wounded  him;  and  you  are  lolling 
around  here  instead  of  starting  to 
his  rescue.     For  shame !  " 

When  they  objected  that  they  did 
not  know  where  we  had  gone,  she 
snapped :  "  Go  everywhere  until  you 
find  him." 

Her  fierce  energy  started  the  men 
we  met.  When  I  came  on  board  she 
at  once  took  charge  and  issued  her 
orders,  which  everybody  jumped  to 
obey.  She  had  blankets  spread  on 
the  floor  of  the  cabin  and  laid  me  on 


The  Rescue  53 

them.  She  obtained  some  whisky 
from  the  captain,  some  water,  por- 
ridge and  coffee  from  the  steward. 
She  was  sitting  on  the  floor  with  my 
head  in  her  lap,  feeding  me  coffee 
with  a  spoon,  when  Dr.  Kendall  came 
in  and  began  on  me  again: 

"  Suppose  you  had  fallen  down 
that  precipice,  what  would  your  poor 
wife  have  done?  What  would  have 
become  of  your  Indians  and  your 
new  church? " 

Then  Mrs.  Kendall  turned  and 
thrust  her  spoon  like  a  sword  at 
him.  "  Henry  Kendall,"  she  blazed, 
"  shut  right  up  and  leave  this  room. 
Have  you  no  sense?  Go  instantly,  I 
say!  "    And  the  good  Doctor  went. 

My  recollections  of  that  day  are 
not  very  clear.  The  shoulder  was 
in  a  bad  condition — swollen,  bruised, 
very  painful.  I. had  to  be  strength- 
ened with  food  and  rest,  and  Muir 
called  from  his  sleep  of  exhaustion, 


54    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

so  that  with  four  other  men  he 
could  pull  and  twist  that  poor  arm 
of  mine  for  an  hour.  They  got  it 
into  its  socket,  but  scarcely  had  Muir 
got  to  sleep  again  before  the  strong, 
nervous  twitching  of  the  shoulder 
dislocated  it  a  second  time  and  seem- 
ingly placed  it  in  a  worse  condition 
than  before.  Captain  Lane  was  now 
summoned,  and  with  Muir  to  direct, 
they  worked  for  two  or  three  hours. 
Whisky  was  poured  down  my  throat 
to  relax  my  stubborn,  pain-convulsed 
muscles.  Then  they  went  at  it  with 
two  men  pulling  at  the  towel  knotted 
about  my  wrist,  two  others  pulling 
against  them,  foot  braced  to  foot, 
Muir  manipulating  my  shoulder  with 
his  sinewy  hands,  and  the  stocky 
Captain,  strong  and  compact  as  a 
bear,  with  his  heel  against  the  yarn 
ball  in  my  armpit,  takes  me  by  the 
elbow  and  says,  "  I'll  set  it  or  pull 
the  arm  off!" 


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The  Rescue  55 

Well,  he  almost  does  the  latter.  I 
am  conscious  of  a  frightful  strain,  a 
spasm  of  anguish  in  my  side  as  his 
heel  slips  from  the  ball  and  kicks  in  two 
of  my  ribs,  a  snap  as  the  head  of  the 
bone  slips  into  the  cup — then  kindly 
oblivion. 

I  was  awakened  about  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  by  the  return  of  the 
whole  party  from  an  excursion  to 
the  Great  Glacier  at  the  Boundary 
Line.  Muir,  fresh  and  enthusiastic 
as  ever,  had  been  the  pilot  across 
the  moraine  and  upon  the  great  ice 
mountain;  and  I,  wrapped  like  a 
mummy  in  linen  strips,  was  able  to 
join  in  his  laughter  as  he  told  of  the 
big  D.D.'s  heroics,  when,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  an  acre  of  alder  brush,  he 
asked  indignantly,  in  response  to  the 
hurry-up  calls:  "Do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  leave  my  wife  in  this  for- 
est?" 

One     overpowering     regret  —  one 


56    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

only — abides  in  my  heart  as  I  think 
back  upon  that  golden  day  with 
John  Muir.  He  could,  and  did,  go 
back  to  Glenora  on  the  return  trip 
of  the  Cassiar,  ascend  the  mountain 
again,  see  the  sunset  from  its 
top,  make  charming  sketches,  stay 
all  night  and  see  the  sunrise,  filling 
his  cup  of  joy  so  full  that  he  could 
pour  out  entrancing  descriptions  for 
days.  While  I — well,  with  entreating 
arms  about  one's  neck  and  pleading, 
tearful  eyes  looking  into  one's  own, 
what  could  one  do  but  promise  to 
climb  no  more?  But  my  lifelong 
lamentation  over  a  treasure  forever 
lost,  is  this :  "  I  never  saw  the  sunset 
from  that  peak." 


THE  VOYAGE 


TOW-A-ATT 

You  are  a  child,  old  Friend — a  child! 
As  light  of  heart,  as  free,  as  wild; 
As  credulous  of  fairy  tale; 
As  simple  in  your  faith,  as  frail 
In  reason;  jealous,  petulant; 
As  crude  in  manner ;  ignorant. 
Yet  wise  in  love;  as  rough,  as  mild— « 
You  are  a  child! 

You  are  a  man,  old  Friend — a  man ! 
Ah,  sure  in  richer  tide  ne'er  ran 
The  blood  of  earth's  nobility. 
Than  through  your  veins;  intrepid,  free; 
In  counsel,  prudent;  proud  and  tall; 
Of  passions  full,  yet  ruling  all; 
No  stauncher  friend  since  time  began; 
You  are  a  MAN ! 


Ill 

THE  VOYAGE 

THE  summer  and  fall  of  1879 
Muir  always  referred  to  as  the 
most  interesting  period  of  his 
adventurous  life.  From  about  the 
tenth  of  July  to  the  twentieth  of 
November  he  was  in  southeastern 
Alaska.  Very  little  of  this  time  did 
he  spend  indoors.  Until  steamboat 
navigation  of  the  Stickeen  River  was 
closed  by  the  forming  ice,  he  made 
frequent  trips  to  the  Great  Glacier — 
thirty  miles  up  the  river,  to  the  Hot 
Springs,  the  Mud  Glacier  and  the  in- 
terior lakes,  ranges,  forests  and 
flower  pastures.  Always  upon  his  re- 
turn (for  my  house  was  his  home  the 
most  of  that  time)  he  would  be  full 
to  intoxication  of  what  he  had  seen, 

59 


60    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

and  dinners  would  grow  cold  and 
lamps  burn  out  while  he  held  us  en- 
tranced with  his  impassioned  stories. 
Although  his  books  are  all  master- 
pieces of  lucid  and  glowing  English, 
Muir  was  one  of  those  rare  souls  who 
talk  better  than  they  write;  and  he 
made  the  trees,  the  animals,  and  es- 
pecially the  glaciers,  live  before  us. 
Somehow  a  glacier  never  seemed 
cold  when  John  Muir  was  talking 
about  it. 

On  September  nineteenth  a  little 
stranger  whose  expected  advent  was 
keeping  me  at  home  arrived  in  the 
person  of  our  first-born  daughter. 
For  two  or  three  weeks  preceding  and 
following  this  event  Muir  was  busy 
writing  his  summer  notes  and  finish- 
ing his  pencil  sketches,  and  also 
studying  the  flora  of  the  islands.  It 
was  a  season  of  constant  rains  when 
the  saanah,  the  southeast  rain-wind, 
blew  a  gale.    But  these  stormy  days 


The  Voyage  61 

and  nights,  which  kept  ordinary  peo- 
ple indoors,  always  lured  him  out  into 
the  woods  or  up  the  mountains. 

One  wild  night,  dark  as  Erebus,  the 
rain  dashing  in  sheets  and  the  wind 
blowing  a  hurricane,  Muir  came  from 
his  room  into  ours  about  ten  o'clock 
with  his  long,  gray  overcoat  and  his 
Scotch  cap  on. 

"Where  now?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  to  the  top  of  the  mountain," 
he  replied.  "  It  is  a  rare  chance  to 
study  this  fine  storm." 

My  expostulations  were  in  vain. 
He  rejected  with  scorn  the  proffered 
lantern:  "It  would  spoil  the  effect." 
I  retired  at  my  usual  time,  for  I  had 
long  since  learned  not  to  worry  about 
Muir.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
there  came  a  hammering  at  the  front 
door.  T  opened  it  and  there  stood  a 
group  of  our  Indians,  rain-soaked  and 
trembling — Chief  Tow-a-att,  Moses, 
Aaron,  Matthew,  Thomas. 


62    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

"Why,  men,"  I  cried,  "what's 
wrong?    What  brings  you  here?  " 

"We  want  you  play  (pray),"  an- 
swered Matthew. 

I  brought  them  into  the  house,  and, 
putting  on  my  clothes  and  lighting 
the  lamp,  I  set  about  to  find  out  the 
trouble.  It  was  not  easy.  They  were 
greatly  excited  and  frightened. 

"We  scare.  All  Stickeen  scare; 
plenty  cly.  We  want  you  play  God; 
plenty  play." 

By  dint  of  much  questioning  I  gath- 
ered at  last  that  the  whole  tribe  were 
frightened  by  a  mysterious  light  wav- 
ing and  flickering  from  the  top  of 
the  little  mountain  that  overlooked 
Wrangell;  and  they  wished  me  to 
pray  to  the  white  man's  God  and  avert 
dire  calamity. 

"  Some  miner  has  camped  there,"  I 
ventured. 

An  eager  chorus  protested;  it  was 
not  like  the  light  of  a  camp-fire  in 


The  Voyage  63 

the  least;  it  waved  in  the  air  like  the 
wings  of  a  spirit.  Besides,  there  was 
no  gold  on  the  top  of  a  hill  like  that; 
and  no  human  being  would  be  so  fool- 
ish as  to  camp  up  there  on  such  a 
night,  when  there  were  plenty  of  com- 
fortable houses  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  It  was  a  spirit,  a  malignant 
spirit. 

Suddenly  the  true  explanation 
flashed  into  my  brain,  and  I  shocked 
my  Indians  by  bursting  into  a  roar  of 
laughter.  In  imagination  I  could  see 
him  so  plainly — John  Muir,  wet  but 
happy,  feeding  his  fire  with  spruce 
sticks,  studying  and  enjoying  the 
storm!  But  I  explained  to  my  na- 
tives, who  ever  afterwards  eyed  Muir 
askance,  as  a  mysterious  being  whose 
ways  and  motives  were  beyond  all 
conjecture. 

"  Why  does  this  strange  man  go 
into  the  wet  woods  and  up  the  moun- 
tains on  stormy  nights?  "  they  asked. 


64    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

"  Why  does  he  wander  alone  on  bar- 
ren peaks  or  on  dangerous  ice-moun- 
tains? There  is  no  gold  up  there  and 
he  never  takes  a  gun  with  him  or 
a  pick.  Ida  mamook — what  make? 
Why— why?" 

The  first  week  in  October  saw  the 
culmination  of  plans  long  and  eagerly 
discussed.  Almost  the  whole  of  the 
Alexandrian  Archipelago,  that  great 
group  of  eleven  hundred  wooded 
islands  that  forms  the  southeastern 
cup-handle  of  Alaska,  was  at  that  time 
a  terra  incognita.  The  only  seaman's 
chart  of  the  region  in  existence  was 
that  made  by  the  great  English  navi- 
gator, Vancouver,  in  1807.  It  was  a 
wonderful  chart,  considering  what  an 
absurd  little  sailing  vessel  he  had  in 
which  to  explore  those  intricate  wa- 
ters with  their  treacherous  winds  and 
tides. 

But  Vancouver's  chart  was  hastily 
made,  after  all,  in  a  land  of  fog  and 


The  Voyage  65 

rain  and  snow.  He  had  not  the  mod- 
ern surveyor's  instruments,  boats  or 
other  helps.  And,  besides,  this  re- 
gion was  changing  more  rapidly 
than,  perhaps,  any  other  part  of  the 
globe.  Volcanic  islands  were  being 
born  out  of  the  depths  of  the  ocean; 
landslides  were  filling  up  channels 
between  the  islands;  tides  and  riv- 
ers were  opening  new  passages  and 
closing  old  ones;  and,  more  than  all, 
those  mightiest  tools  of  the  great 
Engineer,  the  glaciers,  were  furrow- 
ing valleys,  dumping  millions  of  tons 
of  silt  into  the  sea,  forming  islands, 
promontories  and  isthmuses,  and  by 
their  recession  letting  the  sea  into 
deep  and  long  fiords,  forming  great 
bays,  inlets  and  passages,  many  of 
which  did  not  exist  in  Vancouver's 
time.  In  certain  localities  the  living 
glacier  stream  was  breaking  off 
bergs  so  fast  that  the  resultant  bays 
were    lengthening    a    mile    or    more 


i66    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

each  year.  Where  Vancouver  saw 
only  a  great  crystal  wall  across  the 
sea,  we  were  to  paddle  for  days  up 
a  long  and  sinuous  fiord;  and  where 
he  saw  one  glacier,  we  were  to  find 
a  dozen. 

My  mission  in  the  proposed  voy- 
age of  discovery  was  to  locate  and 
visit  the  tribes  and  villages  of  Thlin- 
gets  to  the  north  and  west  of  Wran- 
gell,  to  take  their  census,  confer  with 
their  chiefs  and  report  upon  their 
condition,  with  a  view  to  establish- 
ing schools  and  churches  among 
them.  The  most  of  these  tribes  had 
never  had  a  visit  from  a  missionary, 
and  I  felt  the  eager  zeal  of  an  Eliot 
or  a  Martin  at  the  prospect  of  tell- 
ing them  for  the  first  time  the  Good 
News.  Muir's  mission  was  to  find 
and  study  the  forests,  mountains  and 
glaciers.  I  also  was  eager  to  see 
these  and  learn  about  them,  and 
Muir  was  glad  to  study  the  natives 


The  Voyage  67 

with  me — so  our  plans  fitted  into 
each  other  well. 

"  ^e  are  going  to  write  some  his- 
tory, my  boy,"  Muir  would  say  to 
me.  "Think  of  the  honor!  We 
have  been  chosen  to  put  some  inter- 
esting people  and  some  of  Nature's 
grandest  scenes  on  the  page  of  hu- 
man record  and  on  the  map.  Hurry! 
.We  are  daily  losing  the  most  impor- 
tant news  of  all  the  world." 

In  many  respects  we  were  most 
congenial  companions.  We  both 
loved  the  same  poets  and  could  re- 
peat, verse  about,  many  poems  of 
Tennyson,  Keats,  Shelley  and  Burns. 
He  took  with  him  a  volume  of 
Thoreau,  and  I  one  of  Emerson,  and 
we  enjoyed  them  together.  I  had 
my  printed  Bible  with  me,  and  he 
had  his  in  his  head — the  result  of  a 
Scotch  father's  discipline.  Our  stud- 
ies supplemented  each  other  and  our 
lastes  were  similar.     We  had  both' 


68    Alaska  Days  with  JoHn  Muir 

lived  clean  lives  and  our  conversa- 
tion together  vi^as  sweet  and  high, 
while  we  both  had  a  sense  of  humor 
and  a  large  fund  of  stories. 

But  Muir's  knowledge  of  Nature 
and  his  insight  into  her  plans  and 
methods  were  so  far  beyond  mine 
that,  while  I  was  organizer  and  com- 
mander of  the  expedition,  he  was 
my  teacher  and  guide  into  the  inner 
recesses  and  meanings  of  the  islands, 
bays  and  mountains  we  explored  to- 
gether. 

Our  ship  for  this  voyage  of  dis- 
covery, while  not  so  large  as  Van- 
couver's, was  much  more  shapely 
and  manageable — a  kladushu  etlan 
(six  fathom)  red-cedar  canoe.  It  be- 
longed to  our  captain,  old  Chief 
Tow-a-att,  a  chief  who  had  lately 
embraced  Christianity  with  his  whole 
heart — one  of  the  simplest,  most 
faithful,  dignified  and  brave  souls  I 
ever   knew.      He    fully   expected    to 


The  Voyage  69 

meeit  a  martyr's  death  among  his 
heathen  enemies  of  the  northern 
islands;  yet  he  did  not  shrink  from 
the  voyage  on  that  account. 

His  crew  numbered  three.  First 
in  importance  was  Kadishan,  also  a 
chief  of  the  Stickeens,  chosen  be- 
cause of  his  powers  of  oratory,  his 
kinship  with  Chief  Shathitch  of  the 
Chilcat  tribe,  and  his  friendly  rela- 
tions with  other  chiefs.  He  was  a 
born  courtier,  learned  in  Indian  lore, 
songs  and  customs,  and  able  to  in- 
struct me  in  the  proper  Thlinget 
etiquette  to  suit  all  occasions.  The 
other  two  were  sturdy  young  men — 
Stickeen  John,  our  interpreter,  and 
Sitka  Charley.  They  were  to  act 
as  cooks,  camp-makers,  oarsmen, 
hunters  and  general  utility  men. 

We  stowed  our  baggage,  which 
was  not  burdensome,  in  one  end  of 
the  canoe,  taking  a  simple  store  of 
provisions — flourj  beans,  bacon,   su- 


70    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

gar,  salt  and  a  little  dried  fruit.  We 
were  to  depend  upon  our  guns,  fish- 
hooks, spears  and  clamsticks  for 
other  diet.  As  a  preliminary  to  our 
palaver  with  the  natives  we  followed 
the  old  Hudson  Bay  custom,  then 
firmly  established  in  the  North.  We 
took  materials  for  a  potlatch, — leaf- 
tobacco,  rice  and  sugar.  Our  Indian 
crew  laid  in  their  own  stock  of  pro- 
visions, chiefly  dried  salmon  and  seal- 
grease,  while  our  table  was  to  be 
separate,  set  out  with  the  white 
man's  viands. 

We  did  not  get  off  without  trou- 
ble. Kadishan's  mother,  who  looked 
but  little  older  than  himself,  strongly 
objected  to  my  taking  her  son  on  so 
perilous  a  voyage  and  so  late  in  the 
fall,  and  when  her  scoldings  and  en- 
treaties did  not  avail  she  said:  "If 
anything  happens  to  my  son,  I  will 
take  your  baby  as  mine  in  payment." 

One  sunny  October  day  we  set  our 


The  Voyage  71 

prow  to  the  unknown  northwest, 
pur  hearts  beat  high  with  anticipa- 
tion. Every  passage  between  the 
islands  was  a  corridor  leading  into 
a  new  and  more  enchanting  room  of 
Nature's  great  gallery.  The  lapping 
waves  whispered  enticing  secrets, 
while  the  seabirds  screaming  over- 
head and  the  eagles  shrilling  from 
the  sky  promised  wonderful  adven- 
tures. 

The  voyage  naturally  divides  it- 
self into  the  human  interest  and  the 
study  of  nature;  yet  the  two  con- 
stantly blended  throughout  the 
whole  voyage.  I  can  only  select  a 
few  instances  from  that  trip  of  six 
weeks  whose  every  hour  was  new 
and  strange. 

Our  captain,  taciturn  and  self- 
reliant,  commanded  Muir's  admira- 
tion from  the  first.  His  paddle  was 
sure  in  the  stern,  his  knowledge  of 
the  wind  and  tide  unfailing.    .When- 


72    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

ever  we  landed  the  crew  would  be- 
gin to  dispute  concerning  the  best 
place  to  make  camp.  But  old  Tow-a- 
att,  with  the  mast  in  his  hand,  would 
march  straight  as  an  arrow  to  the 
likeliest  spot  of  all,  stick  down  his 
mast  as  a  tent-pole  and  begin  to  set 
up  the  tent,  the  others  invariably  ac- 
quiescing in  his  decision  as  the  best: 
possible  choice. 

At  our  first  meal  Muir's  sense  of 
humor  cost  us  one-third  of  a  roll 
of  butter.  We  invited  our  captain 
to  take  dinner  with  us.  I  got  out 
the  bread  and  other  viands,  and  set 
the  two-pound  roll  of  butter  beside 
the  bread  and  placed  both  by  Tow-a- 
att.  He  glanced  at  the  roll  of  but- 
ter and  at  the  three  who  were  to 
eat,  measured  with  his  eye  one-third 
of  the  roll,  cut  it  off  with  his  hunt- 
ing knife  and  began  to  cut  it  into 
squares  and  eat  it  with  great  gusto. 
I  was  about  to  interfere  and  show 


The  Voyage  73 

him  the  use  we  made  of  butter,  but 
Muir  stopped  me  with  a  wink.  The 
old  chief  calmly  devoured  his  third 
of  the  roll,  and  rubbing  his  stomach 
with  great  satisfaction  pronounced  it 
"  hyas  klosh  (very  good)  glease." 

Of  necessity  we  had  chosen  the 
rainiest  season  of  the  year  in  that 
dampest  climate  of  North  America, 
where  there  are  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  rainy  days  out  of  the 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  Dur- 
ing our  voyage  it  did  not  rain  every 
day,  but  the  periods  of  sunshine 
were  so  rare  as  to  make  us  hail  them 
with  joyous  acclamation. 

We  steered  our  course  due  west- 
ward for  forty  miles,  then  through 
a  sinuous,  island-studded  passage 
called  Rocky  Strait,  stopping  one 
day  to  lay  in  a  supply  of  venison 
before  sailing  on  to  the  village 
of  the  Kake  Indians.  My  habit 
throughout   the  voyage,  when  com- 


74    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

ing  to  a  native  town,  was  to  find 
where  the  head  chief  lived,  feed  him 
with  rice  and  regale  him  with  to- 
bacco, and  then  induce  him  to  call 
all  his  chiefs  and  head  men  together 
for  a  council.  When  they  were  all 
assembled  I  would  give  small  pres- 
ents of  tobacco  to  each,  and  then 
open  the  floodgate  of  talk,  proclaim- 
ing my  mission  and  telling  them  in 
simplest  terms  the  Great  New  Story. 
Muir  would  generally  follow  me,  un- 
folding in  turn  some  of  the  won- 
ders of  God's  handiwork  and  the 
beauty  of  clean,  pure  living;  and  then 
in  turn,  beginning  with  the  head 
chief,  each  Indian  would  make  his 
speech.  We  were  received  with  joy 
everywhere,  and  if  there  was  suspi- 
cion at  first  old  Tow-a-att's  tearful 
pleadings  and  Kadishan's  oratory 
speedily  brought  about  peace  and 
unity. 
These    palavers    often    lasted    a 


The  Voyage  75 

whole  day  and  far  into  the  night, 
and  usually  ended  with  our  being 
feasted  in  turn  by  the  chief  in  whose 
house  we  had  held  the  council.  I 
took  the  census  of  each  village,  get- 
ting the  heads  of  the  families  to 
count  their  relatives  with  the  aid  of 
beans, — the  large  brown  beans  rep- 
resenting men,  the  large  white  ones, 
women,  and  the  small  Boston  beans, 
children.  In  this  manner  the  first 
census  of  southeastern  Alaska  was 
taken. 

Before  starting  on  the  voyage,  we 
heard  that  there  was  a  Harvard 
graduate,  bearing  an  honored  New 
England  name,  living  among  the 
Kake  Indians  on  Kouyou  Island.  On 
arriving  at  the  chief  town  of  that 
tribe  we  inquired  for  the  white  man 
and  were  told  that  he  was  camping 
with  the  family  of  a  sub-chief  at 
the  mouth  of  a  salmon  stream.  We 
set  off  to  find  him.     As  we  neared 


76    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

the  shore  we  saw  a  circular  group 
of  natives  around  a  fire  on  the  beach, 
sitting  on  their  heels  in  the  stoical 
Indian  way.  We  landed  and  came 
up  to  them.  Not  one  of  them 
deigned  to  rise  or  show  any  excite- 
ment at  our  coming.  The  eight  or 
nine  men  who  formed  the  group 
were  all  dressed  in  colored  four- 
dollar  blankets,  with  the  exception 
of  one,  who  had  on  a  ragged  frag- 
ment of  a  filthy,  two-dollar,  Hudson 
Bay  blanket.  The  back  of  this  man 
was  towards  us,  and  after  speaking 
to  the  chief,  Muir  and  I  crossed  to 
the  other  side  of  the  fire,  and  saw 
his  face.  It  was  the  white  man,  and 
the  ragged  blanket  was  all  the  cloth- 
ing he  had  upon  him!  An  effort  to 
open  conversation  with  him  proved 
futile.  He  answered  only  with' 
grunts  and  mumbled  monosyllables. 
Thus  the  most  filthy,  degraded, 
hopelessly  lost  savage  that  we  found 


The  Voyage  77 

in  this  whole  voyage  was  a  college 
graduate  of  great  New  England 
stock ! 

"  Lift  a  stone  to  mountain  height 
and  let  it  fall,"  said  Muir,  "and  it 
will  sink  the  deeper  into  the  mud." 

At  Angoon,  one  of  the  towns  of 
the  Hootz-noo  triUe,  occurred  an  in- 
cident of  another  type.  We  found 
this  village  hilariously  drunk.  There 
was  a  very  stringent  prohibition  law 
over  Alaska  at  that  time,  which  ab- 
solutely forbade  the  importation  of 
any  spirituous  liquors  into  the  Ter- 
ritory. But  the  law  was  deficient 
in  one  vital  respect — it  did  not  pro- 
hibit the  importation  of  molasses; 
and  a  soldier  during  the  military  oc- 
cupancy of  the  Territory  had  in- 
structed the  natives  in  the  art  of 
making  rum.  The  method  was  sim- 
ple. A  five-gallon  oil  can  was  taken 
and  partly  filled  with  molasses  as 
a  base;  into  that  alcohol  was  placed 


78    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

(if  it  were  obtainable),  dried  apples, 
berries,  potatoes,  flour,  anything  that 
would  rot  and  ferment;  then,  to  give 
it  the  proper  tang,  ginger,  cayenne 
pepper  and  mustard  were  added. 
This  mixture  was  then  set  in  a  warm 
place  to  ferment.  Another  oil  can 
was  cut  up  into  long  strips,  the 
solder  melted  out  and  used  to  make 
a  pipe,  with  two  or  three  turns 
through  cool  water, — forming  the 
worm,  and  the  still.  Talk  about 
your  forty-rod  whiskey — I  have  seen 
this  "  hooch,"  as  it  was  called  be- 
cause these  same  Hootz-noo  natives 
first  made  it,  kill  at  more  than  forty 
rods,  for  it  generally  made  the  na- 
tives fighting  drunk. 

Through  the  large  company  of 
screaming,  dancing  and  singing  na- 
tives we  made  our  way  to  the  chiefs 
house.  By  some  miracle  this  majes- 
tic-looking savage  was  sober.  Per- 
Jiaps  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him 


The  Voyage  79 

as  host  not  to  partake  himself  of 
the  luxuries  with  which  he  regaled 
his  guests.  He  took  us  hospitably 
into  his  great  community  house  of 
split  cedar  planks  with  carved  totem 
poles  for  corner  posts,  and  called 
his  young  men  to  take  care  of  our 
canoe  and  to  bring  wood  for  a  fire 
that  he  might  feast  us.  The  wife  of 
this  chief  was  one  of  the  finest  look- 
ing Indian  women  I  have  ever  met, — 
tall,  straight,  lithe  and  dignified. 
But,  crawling  about  on  the  floor  on 
all  fours,  was  the  most  piteous  tra- 
vesty of  the  human  form  I  have 
ever  seen.  It  was  an  idiot  boy,  six- 
teen years  of  age.  He  had  neither 
the  comeliness  of  a  beast  nor  the 
intellect  of  a  man.  His  name  was 
Hootz-too  (Bear  Heart),  and  indeed 
all  his  motions  were  those  of  a  bear 
rather  than  of  a  human  being. 
Crossing  the  floor  with  the  swing- 
ing gait  of  a  bear,  he  would  crouch 


80    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

back  on  his  haunches  and  resume  his 
constant  occupation  of  sucking  his 
wrist,  into  which  he  had  thus  formed 
a  livid  hole.  When  disturbed  at  this 
horrid  task  he  would  strike  with  the 
claw-like  fingers  of  the  other  hand, 
snarling  and  grunting.  Yet  the 
beautiful  chieftainess  was  his  mother, 
and  she  loved  him.  For  sixteen  years 
she  had  cared  for  this  monster,  feed- 
ing him  with  her  choicest  food,  put- 
ting him  to  sleep  always  in  her  arms, 
taking  him  with  her  and  guarding 
him  day  and  night.  When,  a  short 
time  before  our  visit,  the  medicine 
men,  accusing  him  of  causing  the  ill- 
ness of  some  of  the  head  men  of  the 
village,  proclaimed  him  a  witch,  and 
the  whole  tribe  came  to  take  and 
torture  him  to  death,  she  fought 
them  like  a  lioness,  not  counting  her 
own  life  dear  unto  her,  and  saved  her 
boy. 
When  I  said  to  her  thoughtlessly, 


The  Voyage  81 

"  Oh,  would  you  not  be  relieved  at 
the  death  of  this  poor  idiot  boy?" 
she  saw  in  my  words  a  threat,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  the  pathetic, 
hunted  look  with  which  she  said: 

"Oh,  no,  it  must  not  be;  he  shall 
not  die.  Is  he  not  my  son,  uh-yeet- 
kutsku  (my  dear  little  son)?" 

If  our  voyage  had  yielded  me  noth- 
ing but  this  wonderful  instance  of 
mother-love,  I  should  have  counted 
myself  richly  repaid. 

One  more  human  story  before  I 
come  to  Muir's  part.  It  was  during 
the  latter  half  of  the  voyage,  and 
after  our  discovery  of  Glacier  Bay. 
The  climax  of  the  trip,  so  far  as  the 
missionary  interests  were  concerned, 
was  our  visit  to  the  Chilcat  and  Chil- 
coot  natives  on  Lynn  Canal,  the 
most  northern  tribes  of  the  Alexan- 
drian Archipelago.  Here  reigned 
the  proudest  and  worst  old  savage 
of    Alaska,    Chief    Shathitch.      His 


82    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

wealth  was  very  great  in  Indian 
treasures,  and  he  was  reputed  to  have 
cached  away  in  different  places  sev- 
eral houses  full  of  blankets,  guns, 
boxes  of  beads,  ancient  carved  pipes, 
spears,  knives  and  other  valued  heir- 
looms. He  was  said  to  have  stored 
away  over  one  hundred  of  the  ele- 
gant Chilcat  blankets  woven  by  hand 
from  the  hair  of  the  mountain  goat. 
His  tribe  was  rich  and  unscrupulous. 
Its  members  were  the  middle-men 
between  the  whites  and  the  Indians 
of  the  Interior.  They  did  not  allow 
these  Indians  to  come  to  the  coast, 
but  took  over  the  mountains  articles 
purchased  from  the  whites — guns, 
ammunition,  blankets,  knives  and  so 
forth — and  bartered  them  for  furs. 
It  was  said  that  they  claimed  to 
be  the  manufacturers  of  these  wares 
and  so  charged  for  them  what  prices 
they  pleased.  They  had  these  In- 
dians of  the  Interior  in  a  bondage  of 


G 


:<      CD    r- 


The  Voyage  88 

fear,  and  would  not  allow  them  to 
trade  directly  with  the  white  men. 
Thus  they  carried  out  literally  the 
story  told  of  Hudson  Bay  traffic, — 
piling  beaver  skins  to  the  height  of 
a  ten-dollar  Hudson  Bay  musket  as 
the  price  of  the  musket.  They  were 
the  most  quarrelsome  and  warlike  of 
the  tribes  of  Alaska,  and  their  vil- 
lages were  full  of  slaves  procured 
by  forays  upon  the  coasts  of  Van- 
couver Island,  Puget  Sound,  and  as 
far  south  as  the  mouth  of  the  Colum- 
bia River.  I  was  eager  to  visit  these 
large  and  untaught  tribes,  and  es- 
tablish a  mission  among  them. 

About  the  first  of  November  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  long,  low-built 
village  of  Yin-des-tuk-ki.  As  we 
paddled  up  the  winding  channel  of 
the  Chilcat  River  we  saw  great  ex- 
citement in  the  town.  We  had 
hoisted  the  American  flag,  as  was 
our  custom,  and  had  put  on  our  best 


84    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

apparel  for  the  occasion.  When  we 
got  within  long  musket-shot  of  the 
village  we  saw  the  native  men  come 
rushing  from  their  houses  with  their 
guns  in  their  hands  and  mass  in 
front  of  the  largest  house  upon  the 
beach.  Then  we  were  greeted  by 
what  seemed  rather  too  warm  a  re- 
ception— a  shower  of  bullets  falling 
unpleasantly  around  us.  Instinc- 
tively Muir  and  I  ceased  to  paddle, 
but  Tow-a-att  commanded,  '^  Ut-ha, 
ut-ha! — pull,  pull !  "  and  slowly,  amid 
the  dropping  bullets,  we  zigzagged 
our  way  up  the  channel  towards  the 
village.  As  we  drew  near  the  shore 
a  line  of  runners  extended  down  the 
beach  to  us,  keeping  within  shouting 
distance  of  each  other.  Then  came 
the  questions  like  bullets — ''  Gusu- 
wa-eh? — Who  are  you?  Whence  do 
you  come?  What  is  your  business 
here?"  And  Stickeen  John  shouted 
back  the  reply: 


The  Voyage  85 

"A  great  preacher-chief  and  a 
great  ice-chief  have  come  to  bring 
you  a  good  message." 

The  answer  was  shouted  back 
along  the  line,  and  then  returned 
a  message  of  greeting  and  welcome. 
We  were  to  be  the  guests  of  the 
chief  of  Yin-des-tuk-ki,  old  Don-na- 
wuk  (Silver  Eye),  so  called  because 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  wearing  on 
all  state  occasions  a  huge  pair  of 
silver-bowed  spectacles  which  a  Rus- 
sian officer  had  given  him.  He  con- 
fessed he  could  not  see  through 
them,  but  thought  they  lent  dignity 
to  his  countenance.  We  paddled 
slowly  up  to  the  village,  and  Muir 
and  I,  watching  with  interest,  saw 
the  warriors  all  disappear.  As  our 
prow  touched  the  sand,  however, 
here  they  came,  forty  or  fifty  of 
them,  without  their  guns  this  time, 
but  charging  down  upon  us  with 
war-cries,  " Hoo-hooh,  hoo-hooh''  as 


86    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

if  they  were  going  to  take  us  pris- 
oners. Dashing  into  the  water  they 
ranged  themselves  along  each  side 
of  the  canoe;  then  lifting  up  our 
canoe  with  us  in  it  they  rushed  with 
excited  cries  up  the  bank  to  the 
chiefs  house  and  set  us  down  at  his 
door.  It  was  the  Thlinget  way  of 
paying  us  honor  as  great  guests. 

Then  we  were  solemnly  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  Don-na-wuk. 
His  house  was  large,  covering  about 
fifty  by  sixty  feet  of  ground.  The 
interior  was  built  in  the  usual  fash- 
ion of  a  chief's  house — carved  corner 
posts,  a  square  of  gravel  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  room  for  the  fire  sur- 
rounded by  great  hewn  cedar  planks 
set  on  edge;  a  platform  of  some  six 
feet  in  width  running  clear  around 
the  room;  then  other  planks  on  edge 
and  a  high  platform,  where  the  chief- 
tain's household  goods  were  stowed 
and  where  the  family  took  their  re- 


The  Voyage  87 

pose.  A  brisk  fire  was  burning  in 
the  middle  of  the  room;  and  after 
a  short  palaver,  with  gifts  of  to- 
bacco and  rice  to  the  chief,  it  was 
announced  that  he  would  pay  us  the 
distinguished  honor  of  feasting  us 
first. 

It  was  a  never-to-be-forgotten 
banquet.  We  were  seated  on  the 
lower  platform  with  our  feet  to- 
wards the  fire,  and  before  Muir  and 
me  were  placed  huge  washbowls  of 
blue  Hudson  Bay  ware.  Before  each 
of  our  native  attendants  was  placed 
a  great  carved  wooden  trough,  hold- 
ing about  as  much  as  the  washbowls. 
We  had  learned  enough  of  Indian 
etiquette  to  know  that' at  each  course 
our  respective  vessels  were  to  be 
filled  full  of  food,  and  we  were  ex- 
pected to  carry  off  what  we  could  not 
devour.  It  was  indeed  a  "  feast  of 
fat  things."  The  first  course  was 
what,  for  the  Indian,  takes  the  place 


88    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

of  bread  among  the  whites, — dried 
salmon.  It  was  served,  a  whole 
washbowlful  for  each  of  us,  with  a 
dressing  of  seal-grease.  Muir  and  I 
adroitly  manoeuvred  so  as  to  get  our 
salmon  and  seal-grease  served  sepa- 
rately; for  our  stomachs  had  not 
been  sufficiently  trained  to  endure 
that  rancid  grease.  This  course  fin- 
ished, what  was  left  was  dumped 
into  receptacles  in  our  canoe  and 
guarded  from  the  dogs  by  young 
men  especially  appointed  for  that 
purpose.  Our  washbowls  were 
cleansed  and  the  second  course 
brought  on.  This  consisted  of  the 
back  fat  of  the  deer,  great,  long 
hunks  of  it,  served  with  a  gravy  of 
seal-grease.  The  third  course  was 
little  Russian  potatoes  about  the  size 
of  walnuts,  dished  out  to  us,  a  wash- 
bowlful,  with  a  dressing  of  seal- 
grease.  The  final  course  was  the 
only  berry  then  in  season,  the  long 


The  Voyage  89 

fleshy  apple  of  the  wild  rose  mel- 
lowed with  frost,  served  to  us  in  the 
usual  quantity  with  the  invariable 
sauce  of  seal-grease. 

"  Mon,  mon!"  said  Muir  aside  to 
me,  "  I'm  fashed  we'll  be  floppin' 
aboot  i'  the  sea,  whiles,  wi'  flippers 
an'   forked   tails." 

When  we  had  partaken  of  as  much 
of  this  feast  of  fat  things  as  our 
civilized  stomachs  would  stand,  it 
was  suddenly  announced  that  we 
were  about  to  receive  a  visit  from 
the  great  chief  of  the  Chilcats  and 
the  Chilcoots,  old  Chief  Shathitch 
(Hard-to-Kill).  In  order  to  prop- 
erly receive  His  Majesty,  Muir  and 
I  and  our  two  chiefs  were  each  given 
a  whole  bale  of  Hudson  Bay  blan- 
kets for  a  couch.  Shathitch  made  us 
wait  a  long  time,  doubtless  to  im- 
press us  with  his  dignity  as  supreme 
chief. 

The  heat  of  the  fire  after  the  wind 


90    lAJaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

and  cold  of  the  day  made  us  very 
drowsy.  We  fought  off  sleep,  how- 
ever, and  at  last  in  came  stalking  the 
biggest  chief  of  all  Alaska,  clothed 
in  his  robe  of  state,  which  was  an 
elegant  chinchilla  blanket;  and  upon 
its  yellow  surface,  as  the  chief  slowly 
turned  about  to  show  us  what  was 
written  thereon,  we  were  aston- 
ished to  see  printed  in  black  letters 
these  words,  "  To  Chief  Shathitch, 
from  his  friend,  William  H.  Sew- 
ard ! "  We  learned  afterwards  that 
Seward,  in  his  voyage  of  investiga- 
tion, had  penetrated  to  this  far-off 
town,  had  been  received  in  royal 
state  by  the  old  chief  and  on  his 
return  to  the  States  had  sent  back 
this  token  of  his  appreciation  of 
the  chief's  hospitality.  Whether 
Seward  was  regaled  with  viands 
similar  to  those  offered  to  us,  his- 
tory does  not  relate. 
To  me  the  inspiring  part  of  that 


The  Voyage  91 

voyage  came  next  day,  when  I 
preached  from  early  morning  until 
midnight,  only  occasionally  relieved 
by  Muir  and  by  the  responsive 
speeches  of  the  natives. 

"More,  more;  tell  us  more,"  they 
would  cry.  **  It  is  a  good  talk;  we 
never  heard  this  story  before."  And 
when  I  would  inquire,  "  Of  what  do 
you  wish  me  now  to  talk?"  they 
would  always  say,  "  Tell  us  more  of 
the  Man  from  Heaven  who  died  for 
us." 

Runners  had  been  sent  to  the  Chil- 
coot  village  on  the  eastern  arm  of 
Lynn  Canal,  and  twenty-five  miles 
up  the  Chilcat  River  to  Shathitch's 
town  of  Klukwan;  and  as  the  day 
wore  away  the  crowd  of  Indians  had 
increased  so  greatly  that  there  was 
no  room  for  them  in  the  large  house. 
I  heard  a  scrambling  upon  the  roof, 
and  looking  up  I  saw  a  row  of  black 
heads   around  the  great  smoke-hole 


192    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

in  the  center  of  the  roof.  After  a 
little  a  ripping,  tearing  sound  came 
from  the  sides  of  the  building.  They 
were  prying  ofif  the  planks  in  order 
that  those  outside  might  hear. 
When  my  voice  faltered  with  long 
talking  Tow-a-att  and  Kadishan 
took  up  the  story,  telling  what  they 
had  learned  of  the  white  man's  reli- 
gion; or  Muir  told  the  eager  natives 
wonderful  things  about  what  the 
great  one  God,  whose  name  is  Love, 
was  doing  for  them.  The  all-day 
meeting  was  only  interrupted  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  the  afternoon,  when 
we  walked  with  the  chiefs  across  the 
narrow  isthmus  between  Pyramid 
Harbor  and  the  eastern  arm  of  Lynn 
Canal,  and  I  selected  the  harbor, 
farm  and  townsite  now  occupied  by 
Haines  mission  and  town  and  Fort 
William  H.  Seward.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  the  large  missions  of 
Haines  and  Klukwan. 


THE  DISCOVERY, 


MOONLIGHT  IN  GLACIER  BAY 


To  heaven  swells  a  mighty  psalm  of  praise; 

Its  music-sheets  are  glaciers,  vast  and  white. 
Sky-piercing  peaks  the  voiceless  chorus  raise. 

To  fill  with  ecstasy  the  wond'ring  night. 

Complete,  with  every  part  in  sweet  accord, 
Th'  adoring  breezes  waft  it  up,  on  wings 

Of  beauty-incense,  giving  to  the  Lord 
The  purest  sacrifice  glad  Nature  brings. 

The  list'ning  stars  with  rapture  beat  and  glow; 

The  moon  forgets  her  high,  eternal  calm 
To  shout  her  gladness  to  the  sea  below, 

Whose  waves  are  silver  tongues  to  join  the  psalm. 

Those  everlasting  snow-fields  are  not  cold; 

This  icy  solitude  no  barren  waste. 
The  crystal  masses  burn  with  love  untold; 

The  glacier-table  spreads  a  royal  feast. 

Fairweather !  Crillon  !  Warders  at  Heaven's  gate ! 

Hoar-headed   priests   of   Nature's   inmost   shrine! 
Strong  seraph  forms   in   robes  immaculate! 

Draw  me  from  earth;  enlighten,  change,  refine; 

Till  I,  one  little  note  in  this  great  song. 
Who  seem  a  blot  upon  th'  unsullied  white, 

No  discord  make — a  note  high,  pure  and  strong- 
Set  in  the  silent  music  of  the  night. 


IV 

THE  DISCOVERY 

THE  nature-study  part  of  the 
voyage  was  woven  in  with  the 
missionary  trip  as  intimately 
as  warp  with  woof.  No  island,  rock, 
forest,  mountain  or  glacier  which  we 
passed,  near  or  far,  was  neglected. 
We  went  so  at  our  own  sweet  will, 
without  any  set  time  or  schedule, 
that  we  were  constantly  finding  ob- 
jects and  points  of  surprise  and  in- 
terest. When  we  landed,  the  algae, 
which  sometimes  filled  the  little  har- 
bors, the  limpets  and  lichens  of  the 
rocks,  the  fucus  pods  that  snapped 
beneath  our  feet,  the  grasses  of  the 
beach,  the  moss  and  shrubbery 
among  the  trees,  and,  more  than  all, 
the  majestic   forests,  claimed  atten- 

95 


96    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

tion  and  study.  Muir  was  one  of 
the  most  expert  foresters  this  coun- 
try has  ever  produced.  He  was 
never  at  a  loss.  The  luxuriant  vege- 
tation of  this  wet  coast  filled  him 
wath  admiration,  and  he  never  took 
a  walk  from  camp  but  he  had  a 
whole  volume  of  things  to  tell  me, 
and  he  was  constantly  bringing  in 
trophies  of  which  he  was  prouder 
than  any  hunter  of  his  antlers.  Now 
it  was  a  bunch  of  ferns  as  high  as 
his  head;  now  a  cluster  of  minute 
and  wonderfully  beautiful  moss  blos- 
soms; now  a  curious  fungous  growth; 
now  a  spruce  branch  heavy  with 
cones;  and  again  he  would  call  me 
into  the  forest  to  see  a  strange  and 
grotesque  moss  formation  on  a  dead 
stump,  looking  like  a  tree  standing 
upon  its  head.  Thus,  although  his 
objective  was  the  glaciers,  his  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  botany  and  his 
interest   in   that   study   made   every 


The  Discovery  97 

camp  just  the  place  he  wished  to  be. 
He  always  claimed  that  there  was 
more  of  pure  ethics  and  even  of 
moral  evil  and  good  to  be  learned 
in  the  wilderness  than  from  any  book 
or  in  any  abode  of  man.  He  was 
fond  of  quoting  Wordsworth's 
stanza: 

"  One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood 
Will  teach  you  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good, 
Than  all  the  sages  can." 

Muir  was  a  devout  theist.  The 
Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  Unity  of 
God,  the  immanence  of  God  in  na- 
ture and  His  management  of  all  the 
affairs  of  the  universe,  was  his  con- 
stantly reiterated  belief.  He  saw  de- 
sign in  many  things  which  the  ordi- 
nary naturalist,  overlooks,  such  as 
the  symmetry  of  an  island,  the  bal- 
ancing branches  of  a  tree,  the  har- 
mony of  colors  in  a  group  of  flowers, 


9S    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

the  completion  of  a  fully  rounded 
landscape.  In  his  view,  the  Creator 
of  it  all  saw  every  beautiful  and  sub- 
lime thing  from  every  viewpoint, 
and  had  thus  formed  it,  not  merely 
for  His  own  delight,  but  for  the 
delectation  and  instruction  of  His 
human  children. 

"  Look  at  that,  now,"  he  would 
say,  when,  on  turning  a  point,  a 
wonderful  vista  of  island-studded  sea 
between  mountains,  with  one  of 
Alaska's  matchless  sunsets  at  the 
end,  would  wheel  into  sight.  "  Why, 
it  looks  as  if  these  giants  of  God's 
great  army  had  just  now  marched 
into  their  stations;  every  one  placed 
just  right,  just  right!  What  land- 
scape gardening!  What  a  scheme  of 
things !  And  to  think  that  He  should 
plan  to  bring  us  feckless  creatures 
here  at  the  right  moment,  and  then 
flash  such  glories  at  us!  Man,  we're 
not  worthy  of  such  honor! " 


The  Discovery  99 

Thus  Muir  was  always  discovering 
to  me  things  which  I  would  never 
have  seen  myself  and  opening  up  to 
me  new  avenues  of  knowledge,  de- 
light and  adoration.  There  was 
something  so  intimate  in  his  theism 
that  it  purified,  elevated  and  broad- 
ened mine,  even  when  I  could  not 
agree  with  him.  His  constant  ex- 
clamation when  a  fine  landscape 
would  burst  upon  our  view,  or  a 
shaft  of  light  would  pierce  the  clouds 
and  glorify  a  mountain,  was,  "  Praise 
God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow!" 

Two  or  three  great  adventures 
stand  out  prominently  in  this  wonder- 
ful voyage  of  discovery.  Two  weeks 
from  home  brought  us  to  Icy  Straits 
and  the  homes  of  the  Hoonah  tribe. 
Here  the  knowledge  of  the  way  on 
the  part  of  our  crew  ended.  We  put 
into  the  large  Hoonah  village  on 
Chichagof  Island.  After  the  usual 
preaching  and  census-taking,  we  took 


100    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

aboard  a  sub-chief  of  the  Hoonahs, 
who  was  a  noted  seal  hunter  and, 
therefore,  able  to  guide  us  among 
the  ice-floes  of  the  mysterious  Gla- 
cier Bay  of  which  we  had  heard. 
Vancouver's  chart  gave  us  no  inti- 
mation of  any  inlet  whatever;  but 
the  natives  told  of  vast  masses  of 
floating  ice,  of  a  constant  noise  of 
thunder  when  they  crashed  from  the 
glaciers  into  the  sea;  and  also  of 
fearsome  bays  and  passages  full  of 
evil  spirits  which  made  them  very 
perilous  to  navigate. 

In  one  bay  there  was  said  to  be 
a  giant  devil-fish  with  arms  as  long 
as  a  tree,  lurking  in  malignant  pa- 
tience, awaiting  the  passage  that 
way  of  an  unwary  canoe,  when  up 
would  flash  those  terrible  arms  with 
their  thousand  suckers  and,  seizing 
their  prey,  would  drag  down  the 
men  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  there 
to  be  mangled  and  devoured  by  the 


The  Discovery  101 

horrid  beak.  Another  deep  fiord  was 
the  abode  of  Koosta~kah,  the  Otter- 
man,  the  mischievous  Puck  of  Indian 
lore,  who  was  waiting  for  voyagers 
to  land  and  camp,  when  he  would 
seize  their  sleeping  forms  and  trans- 
port them  a  dozen  miles  in  a  mo- 
ment, or  cradle  them  on  the  tops  of 
the  highest  trees.  Again  there  was 
a  most  rapacious  and  ferocious  killer- 
whale  in  a  piece  of  swift  water, 
whose  delight  it  was  to  take  into 
his  great,  tooth-rimmed  jaws  whole 
canoes  with  their  crews  of  men,  man- 
gling them  and  gulping  them  down 
as  a  single  mouthful.  Many  were 
these  stories  of  fear  told  us  at  the 
Hoonah  village  the  night  before  we 
started  to  explore  the  icy  bay,  and 
our  credulous'  Stickeens  gave  us 
rather  broad  hints  that  it  was  time 
to  turn  back. 

*'  There  are  no  natives  up  in  that 
region;    there    is    nothing    to    hunt; 


102    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

there  is  no  gold  there;  why  do  you 
persist  in  this  cultus  coly  (aimless 
journey)  ?  You  are  likely  to  meet 
death  and  nothing  else  if  you  go  into 
that  dangerous  region." 

All  these  stories  made  us  the  more 
eager  to  explore  the  wonders  beyond, 
and  we  hastened  away  from  Hoonah 
with  our  guide  aboard.  A  day's  sail 
brought  us  to  a  little,  heavily  wooded 
island  near  the  mouth  of  Glacier  Bay. 
This  we  named  Pleasant  Island. 

As  we  broke  camp  in  the  morning 
our  guide  said:  "We  must  take  on 
board  a  supply  of  dry  wood  here,  as 
there  is  none  beyond." 

Leaving  this  last  green  island  we 
steered  northwest  into  the  great 
bay,  the  country  of  ice  and  bare 
rocks.  Muir's  excitement  was  in- 
creasing every  moment,  and  as  the 
majestic  arena  opened  before  us  and 
the  Muir,  Geicke,  Pacific  and  other 
great  glaciers  (all  nameless  as  yet) 


The  Discovery  103 

began  to  appear,  he  could  hardly 
contain  himself.  He  was  impatient 
of  any  delay,  and  was  constantly 
calling  to  the  crew  to  redouble  their 
efforts  and  get  close  to  these  won- 
ders. Now  the  marks  of  recent  gla- 
ciation  showed  plainly.  Here  was  a 
conical  island  of  gray  granite,  whose 
rounded  top  and  symmetrical  shoul- 
ders were  worn  smooth  as  a  Scotch 
monument  by  grinding  glaciers. 
Here  was  a  great  mountain  slashed 
sheer  across  its  face,  showing  sharp 
edge  and  flat  surface  as  if  a  slab  of 
mountain  size  had  been  sawed  from 
it.  Yonder  again  loomed  a  granite 
range  whose  huge  breasts  were 
rounded  and  polished  by  the  resist- 
less sweep  of  that  great  ice  mass 
which  Vancouver  saw  filling  the 
bay. 

Soon  the  icebergs  were  charging 
down  upon  us  with  the  receding  tide 
and  dressing  up  in  compact  phalanx 


!l04!    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muii^ 

when  the  tide  arose.  First  would 
come  the  advance  guard  of  smaller 
bergs,  with  here  and  there  a  house- 
like mass  of  cobalt  blue  with  streaks 
of  white  and  deeper  recesses  of  ul- 
tramarine; here  we  passed  an  eight- 
sided,  solid  figure  of  bottle-green  ice; 
there  towered  an  antlered  formation 
like  the  horns  of  a  stag.  Now  we 
must  use  all  caution  and  give  the 
larger  icebergs  a  wide  berth.  They 
are  treacherous  creatures,  these  ice- 
bergs. You  may  be  paddling  along 
by  a  peaceful  looking  berg,  sleeping 
on  the  water  as  mild  and  harmless 
as  a  lamb;  when  suddenly  he  will 
take  a  notion  to  turn  over,  and  up 
under  your  canoe  will  come  a  spear 
of  ice,  impaling  it  and  lifting  it  and 
its  occupants  skyward;  then,  turning 
over,  down  will  go  canoe  and  men 
to  the  depths. 

Our  progress  up  the  sixty  miles  of 
Glacier  Bay  was  very  slow.     Three 


The  Discovery  105 

nights  we  camped  on  the  bare  gran- 
ite rock  before  we  reached  the  limit 
of  the  bay.  All  vegetation  had  dis- 
appeared; hardly  a  bunch  of  grass 
was  seen.  The  only  signs  of  former 
life  were  the  sodden  and  splintered 
spruce  and  fir  stumps  that  projected 
here  and  there  from  the  bases  of 
huge  gravel  heaps,  the  moraine  mat- 
ter of  the  mighty  ice  mass  that  had 
engulfed  them.  They  told  the  story 
of  great  forests  which  had  once  cov- 
ered this  whole  region,  until  the 
great  sea  of  ice  of  the  second  gla- 
cial period  overwhelmed  and  ground 
them  down,  and  buried  them  deep 
under  its  moraine  matter.  When  we 
landed  there  were  no  level  spots  on 
which  to  pitch  our  tent  and  no  sandy 
beaches  or  gravel  beds  in  which  to 
sink  our  tent-poles.  I  learned  from 
Muir  the  gentle  art  of  sleeping  on 
a  rock,  curled  like  a  squirrel  around 
a  boulder. 


106    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

We  passed  by  Muir  Glacier  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bay,  seeking  to 
attain  the  extreme  end  of  the  great 
fiord.  We  estimated  the  distance  by 
the  tide  and  our  rate  of  rowing, 
tracing  the  shore-line  and  islands  as 
we  went  along  and  getting  the  points 
of  the  compass  from  our  little  pocket 
instrument. 

Rain  was  falling  almost  constantly 
during  the  week  we  spent  in  Glacier 
Bay.  Now  and  then  the  clouds 
would  lift,  showing  the  twin  peaks 
of  La  Perouse  and  the  majestic  sum- 
mits of  Mts.  Fairweather  and  Crillon. 
These  mighty  summits,  twelve  thou- 
sand, fifteen  thousand  and  sixteen 
thousand  feet  high,  respectively, 
pierced  the  sky  directly  above  us; 
sometimes  they  seemed  to  be  hang- 
ing over  us  threateningly.  Only 
once  did  the  sky  completely  clear; 
and  then  was  preached  to  us  the 
wonderful  Sermon  of  Glacier  Bay. 


The  Discovery  107 

Early  that  morning  we  quitted  our 
camp  on  a  barren  rock,  steering  to- 
wards Mt.  Fairweather.  A  night  of 
sleepless  discomfort  had  ushered  in 
a  bleak  gray  morning.  Our  Indians 
were  sullen  and  silent,  their  scowling 
looks  resenting  our  relentless  pur- 
pose to  attain  to  the  head  of  the 
bay.  The  air  was  damp  and  raw, 
chilling  us  to  the  marrow.  The  for- 
bidding granite  mountains,  showing 
here  and  there  through  the  fog, 
seemed  suddenly  to  push  out  threat- 
ening fists  and  shoulders  at  us.  All 
night  long  the  ice-guns  had  bom- 
barded us  from  four  or  five  direc- 
tions, when  the  great  masses  of  ice 
from  living  glaciers  toppled  into  the 
sea,  crashing  and  grinding  with  the 
noise  of  thunder.  The  granite  walls 
hurled  back  the  sound  in  reiterated 
peals,  multiplying  its  volume  a 
hundredfold. 

There  was  no  Love  apparent   on 


108    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

that  bleak,  gray  morning:  Power  was 
there  in  appalling  force.  Visions  of 
those  evergreen  forests  that  had  once 
clung  trustingly  to  these  mountain 
walls,  but  had  been  swept,  one  and 
all,  by  the  relentless  forces  of  the  ice 
and  buried  deep  under  mountains  of 
moraine  matter,  but  added  to  the 
present  desolation.  We  could  not 
enjoy;  we  could  only  endure.  Death 
from  overturning  icebergs,  from 
charging  tides,  from  mountain  ava- 
lanche, threatened  us. 

Suddenly  I  heard  Muir  catch  his 
breath  with  a  fervent  ejaculation. 
"God,  Almighty!"  he  said.  Fol- 
lowing his  gaze  towards  Mt.  Crillon, 
I  saw  the  summit  highest  of  all 
crowned  with  glory  indeed.  It  was 
not  sunlight;  there  was  no  appear- 
ance of  shining;  it  was  as  if  the  Great 
Artist  with  one  sweep  of  His  brush 
had  laid  upon  the  king-peak  of  all 
a  crown  of  the  most  brilliant  of  all 


The  Discovery  109 

colors — as  if  a  pigment,  perfectly 
made  and  thickly  spread,  too  deli- 
cate for  crimson,  too  intense  for 
pink,  had  leaped  in  a  moment  upon 
the  mountain  top ;  "  An  awful  rose 
of  dawn."  The  summit  nearest 
Heaven  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  its 
glory!  It  was  a  rose  blooming  in 
ice-fields,  a  love-song  in  the  midst  of 
a  stern  epic,  a  drop  from  the  heart 
of  Christ  upon  the  icy  desolation  and 
barren  affections  of  a  sin-frozen 
world.  It  warmed  and  thrilled  us  in 
an  instant.  We  who  had  been  dull 
and  apathetic  a  moment  before,  shiv- 
ering in  our  wet  blankets,  were  glow- 
ing and  exultant  now.  Even  the 
Indians  ceased  their  paddling,  gazing 
with  faces  of  awe  upon  the  wonder. 
Now,  as  we  watched  that  kingly 
peak,  we  saw  the  color  leap  to  one 
and  another  and  another  of  the 
snowy  summits  around  it.  The 
monarch  had  a  whole  family  of  royal 


110    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

princes  about  him  to  share  his  glory. 
Their  radiant  heads,  ruby  crowned, 
were  above  the  clouds,  which  seemed 
to  form  their  silken  garments. 

As  we  looked  in  ecstatic  silence  we 
saw  the  light  creep  down  the  moun- 
tains. It  was  changing  now.  The 
glowing  crimson  was  suffused  with 
soft,  creamy  light.  If  it  was  less 
divine,  it  was  more  warmly  human. 
Heaven  was  coming  down  to  man. 
The  dark  recesses  of  the  mountains 
began  to  lighten.  They  stood  forth 
as  at  the  word  of  command  from 
the  Master  of  all;  and  as  the  chang- 
ing mellow  light  moved  downward 
that  wonderful  colosseum  appeared 
clearly  with  its  battlements  and 
peaks  and  columns,  until  the  whole 
majestic  landscape  was  revealed. 

Now  we  saw  the  design  and  pur- 
pose of  it  all.  Now  the  text  of  this 
great  sermon  was  emblazoned  across 
the  landscape — "  God  is  Love  " ;  and 


The  Discovery  111 

we  understood  that  these  relentless 
forces  that  had  pushed  the  molten 
mountains  heavenward,  cooled  them 
into  granite  peaks,  covered  them 
with  snow  and  ice,  dumped  the 
moraine  matter  into  the  sea,  filling 
up  the  sea,  preparing  the  world  for 
a  stronger  and  better  race  of  men 
(who  knows?),  were  all  a  part  of 
that  great  "  All  things  "  that  "  work 
together  for  good." 

Our  minds  cleared  with  the  land- 
scape; our  courage  rose;  our  In- 
dians dipped  their  paddles  silently, 
steering  without  fear  amidst  the  dan- 
gerous masses  of  ice.  But  there  was 
no  profanity  in  Muir's  exclamation, 
"We  have  met  with  God!"  A  life- 
long devoutness  of  gratitude  filled 
us,  to  think  that  we  were  guided  into 
this  most  wonderful  room  of  God's 
great  gallery,  on  perhaps  the  only 
day  in  the  year  when  the  skies  were 
cleared  and  the  sunrise,  the  atmos- 


112    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

pheric  conditions  and  the  point  of 
view  all  prepared  for  the  matchless 
spectacle.  The  discomforts  of  the 
voyage,  the  toil,  the  cold  and  rain 
of  the  past  weeks  were  a  small  price 
to  pay  for  one  glimpse  of  its  surpass- 
ing loveliness.  Again  and  again 
Muir  would  break  out,  after  a  long 
silence  of  blissful  memory,  with  ex- 
clamations: 

"We  saw  it;  we  saw  it!  He  sent 
us  to  His  most  glorious  exhibition. 
Praise  God,  from  whom  all  bless- 
ings flow! " 

Two  or  three  inspiring  days  fol- 
lowed. Muir  must  climb  the  most 
accessible  of  the  mountains.  My 
weak  shoulders  forbade  me  to  as- 
cend more  than  two  or  three  thou- 
sand feet,  but  Muir  went  more  than 
twice  as  high.  Upon  two  or  three 
of  the  glaciers  he  climbed,  although 
the  speed  of  these  icy  streams  was 
so  great  and  their  "  frozen  cataracts  " 


The  Discovery  113 

were  so  frequent,  that  it  was  difficult 
to  ascend  them. 

I  began  to  understand  Muir's 
whole  new  theory,  which  theory 
made  Tyndall  pronounce  him  the 
greatest  authority  on  glacial  action 
the  world  had  seen.  He  pointed  out 
to  me  the  mechanical  laws  that  gov- 
erned those  slow-moving,  resistless 
streams;  how  they  carved  their  own 
valleys;  how  the  lower  valley  and 
glacier  were  often  the  resultant  in 
size  and  velocity  of  the  two  or 
three  glaciers  that  now  formed  the 
branches  of  the  main  glaciers;  how 
the  harder  strata  of  rock  resisted 
and  turned  the  masses  of  ice;  how 
the  steely  ploughshares  were  often 
inserted  into  softer  leads  and  a 
whole  mountain  split  apart  as  by  a 
wedge. 

Muir  would  explore  all  day  long, 
often  rising  hours  before  daylight 
and  disappearing  among  the  moun- 


ill4    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

lains,  not  coming  to  camp  until  after 
night  had  fallen.  Again  and  again 
the  Indians  said  that  he  was  lost;  but 
I  had  no  fears  for  him.  When  he 
would  return  to  camp  he  was  so  full 
of  his  discoveries  and  of  the  new 
facts  garnered  that  he  would  talk 
until  long  into  the  night,  almost  for- 
getting to  eat. 

Returning  down  the  bay,  we 
passed  the  largest  glacier  of  all, 
which  was  to  bear  Muir's  name.  It 
was  then  fully  a  mile  and  a  half  in 
width,  and  the  perpendicular  face 
of  it  towered  from  four  to  seven  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  surface  of  the 
water.  The  ice  masses  were  break- 
ing off  so  fast  that  we  were  forced 
to  put  off  far  from  the  face  of  the 
glacier.  The  great  waves  threat- 
ened constantly  to  dash  us  against 
the  sharp  points  of  the  icebergs.  We 
wished  to  land  and  scale  the  glacier 
from   the   eastern   side.     We  rowed 


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3 

s 

'en 

^ 

The  Discovery  115 

our  canoe  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  edge  of  the  glacier,  but,  attempt- 
ing to  land,  were  forced  hastily  to 
put  off  again.  A  great  wave,  formed 
by  the  masses  of  ice  breaking  off 
into  the  water,  threatened  to  dash 
our  loaded  canoe  against  the  boul- 
ders on  the  beach.  Rowing  further 
away,  we  tried  it  again  and  again, 
with  the  same  result.  As  soon  as 
we  neared  the  shore  another  huge 
wave  would  threaten  destruction. 
We  were  fully  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  edge  of  the  glacier  before 
we  found  it  safe  to  land. 

Muir  spent  a  whole  day  alone  on 
the  glacier,  walking  over  twenty 
miles  across  what  he  called  the  gla- 
cial lake  between  two  mountains.  A 
cold,  penetrating,  mist-like  rain  was 
falling,  and  dark  clouds  swept  up 
the  bay  and  clung  about  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  mountains.  When  night 
approached   and    Muir   had    not   re- 


116    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

turned,  I  set  the  Indians  to  digging 
out  from  the  bases  of  the  gravel  hills 
the  frazzled  stumps  and  logs  that 
remained  of  the  buried  forests. 
These  were  full  of  resin  and  burned 
brightly.  I  made  a  great  fire  and 
cooked  a  good  supper  of  venison, 
beans,  biscuit  and  cofifee.  .When 
pitchy  darkness  gathered,  and  still 
Muir  did  not  come,  Tow^-a-att  made 
some  torches  of  fat  spruce,  and  tak- 
ing with  him  Charley,  laden  with 
more  wood,  he  went  up  the  beach  a 
mile  and  a  half,  climbed  the  base  of 
the  mountain  and  kindled  a  beacon 
which  flashed  its  cheering  rays  far 
over  the  glacier. 

Muir  came  stumbling  into  camp 
with  these  two  Indians  a  little  be- 
fore midnight,  very  tired  but  very 
happy.  "Ah!"  he  sighed,  "I'm 
glad  to  be  in  camp.  The  glacier 
almost  got  me  this  time.  If  it  had 
not    been    for   the    beacon   and    old 


The  Discovery  117 

Tow-a-att,  I  might  have  had  to  spend 
the  night  on  the  ice.  The  crevasses 
were  so  many  and  so  bewildering  in 
their  mazy,  crisscross  windings  that 
I  was  actually  going  farther  into 
the  glacier  when  I  caught  the  flash' 
of  light." 

I  brought  him  to  the  tent  and 
placed  the  hot  viands  before  him. 
He  attacked  them  ravenously,  but 
presently  was  talking  again: 

"Man,  man;  you  ought  to  have 
been  with  me.  You'll  never  make 
up  what  you  have  lost  to-day.  I've 
been  wandering  through  a  thousand 
rooms  of  God's  crystal  temple.  I've 
been  a  thousand  feet  down  in  the 
crevasses,  with  matchless  domes  and 
sculptured  figures  and  carved  ice- 
work  all  about  me.  Solomon's  mar- 
ble and  ivory  palaces  were  nothing 
to  it.  Such  purity,  such  color,  such 
delicate  beauty  f  I  was  tempted  to 
stay  there  and  feast  my  soul,  and 


118    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

softly  freeze,  until  I  would  become 
part  of  the  glacier.  What  a  great 
death  that  would  be !  " 

Again  and  again  I  would  have  to 
remind  Muir  that  he  was  eating  his 
supper,  but  it  was  more  than  an  hour 
before  I  could  get  him  to  finish 
the  meal,  and  two  or  three  hours 
longer  before  he  stopped  talking  and 
went  to  sleep.  I  wish  I  had  taken 
down  his  descriptions.  What  splen- 
did reading  they  would  make! 

But  scurries  of  snow  warned  us 
that  winter  was  coming,  and,  much 
to  the  relief  of  our  natives,  we  turned 
the  prow  of  our  canoe  towards  Chat- 
ham Strait  again.  Landing  our 
Hoonah  guide  at  his  village,  we  took 
our  route  northward  again  up  Lynn 
Canal.  The  beautiful  Davison  Gla- 
cier with  its  great  snowy  fan  drew 
our  gaze  and  excited  our  admiration 
for  two  days;  then  the  visit  to  the 
Chilcats   and   the   return   trip    com- 


The  Discovery  119 

menced.  Bowling  down  the  canal 
before  a  strong  north  wind,  we  en- 
tered Stevens  Passage,  and  visited 
the  two  villages  of  the  Auk  Indians, 
a  squalid,  miserable  tribe.  We 
camped  at  the  site  of  what  is  now 
Juneau,  the  capital  of  Alaska,  and 
no  dream  of  the  millions  of  gold 
that  were  to  be  taken  from  those 
mountains  disturbed  us.  If  we  had 
known,  I  do  not  think  that  we  would 
have  halted  a  day  or  staked  a  claim. 
Our  treasures  were  richer  than  gold 
and  securely  laid  up  in  the  vaults  of 
our  memories. 

An  excursion  into  Taku  Bay,  that 
miniature  of  Glacier  Bay,  with  its 
then  three  living  glaciers;  a  visit  to 
two  villages  of  the  Taku  Indians; 
past  Ft.  Snettisham,  up  whose  arms 
we  pushed,  mapping  them;  then  to 
Sumdum.  Here  the  two  arms  of 
Holkham  Bay,-  filled  with  ice,  en- 
ticed us  to  exploration,  but  the  con- 


120    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

stant  rains  of  the  fall  had  made  the 
ice  of  the  glaciers  more  viscid  and 
the  glacier  streams  more  rapid; 
hence  the  vast  array  of  icebergs 
charging  down  upon  us  like  an  army, 
spreading  out  in  loose  formation 
and  then  gathering  into  a  barrier 
when  the  tide  turned,  made  explora- 
tion to  the  end  of  the  bay  impossi- 
ble. Muir  would  not  give  up  his 
quest  of  the  mother  glacier  until  the 
Indians  frankly  refused  to  go  any 
further;  and  old  Tow-a-att  called  our 
interpreter,  Johnny,  as  for  a  counsel 
of  state,  and  carefully  set  forth  to 
Muir  that  if  he  persisted  in  his  pur- 
pose of  pushing  forward  up  the  bay 
he  would  have  the  blood  of  the  whole 
party  on  his  hands. 

Said  the  old  chief:  "My  life  is  of 
no  account,  and  it  does  not  matter 
whether  I  live  or  die;  but  you  shall 
not  sacrifice  the  life  of  my  min- 
ister/' 


The  Discovery  121 

I  laughed  at  Muir's  discomfiture 
and  gave  the  word  to  retreat.  This 
one  defeat  of  a  victorious  expedition 
so  weighed  upon  Muir's  mind  that  it 
brought  him  back  from  the  California 
coast  next  year  and  from  the  arms 
of  his  bride  to  discover  and  climb 
upon  that  glacier. 

On  down  now  through  Prince 
Frederick  Sound,  past  the  beautiful 
Norris  Glacier,  then  into  Le  Conte 
Bay  with  its  living  glacier  and  ice- 
bergs, across  the  Stickeen  flats,  and 
so  joyfully  home  again,  Muir  to  take 
the  November  steamboat  back  to  his 
sunland. 

I  have  made  many  voyages  in  that' 
great  Alexandrian  Archipelago  since, 
traveling  by  canoe  over  fifteen  thou- 
sand miles — not  one  of  them  a  dull  one 
— through  its  intricate  passages;  but 
none  compared,  in  the  number  and 
intensity  of  its  thrills,  in  the  variety 
and  excitement  of  its  incidents  and 


122    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

in  its  lasting  impressions  of  beauty 
and  grandeur,  with  this  first  voyage 
when  we  groped  our  way  northward 
with  only  Vancouver's  old  chart  as 
our  guide. 


JHE  LOST  GLACIER 


NIGHT  IN  A  CANOE 

A  dreary  world !    The  constant  rain 

Beats  back  to  earth  blithe  fancy's  wings; 
And  life — a  sodden  garment — clings 

About  a  body  numb  with  pain. 

Imagination  ceased  with  light; 

Of  Nature's  psalm  no  echo  lingers. 

The  death-cold  mist,  with  ghostly  fingers, 
Shrouds  world  and  soul  in  rayless  night. 

An  inky  sea,  a  sullen  crew, 

A  frail  canoe's  uncertain  motion; 

A  whispered  talk  of  wind  and  ocean, 
As  plotting  secret  crimes  to  do! 

The  vampire-night  sucks  all  my  blood; 

Warm  home  and  love  seem  lost  for  aye ; 

From  cloud  to  cloud  I  steal  away, 
Like  guilty  soul  o'er  Stygian  flood. 

Peace,  morbid  heart!     From  paddle  blade 
See  the  black  water  flash  in  Hght ; 
And  bars  of  moonbeams  streaming  white, 

Have  pearls  of   ebon   raindrops   made. 

From  darkest  sea  of  deep  despair 

Gleams  Hope,  awaked  by  Action's  blow; 
And  Faith's  clear  ray,  though  clouds  hang  low, 

Slants  up  to  heights  serene  and  fair. 


V 

THE  LOST  GLACIER 

JOHN  MUIR  was  married  in  the 
spring  of  1880  to  Miss  Strentzel, 
the  daughter  of  a  Polish  physi- 
cian who  had  come  out  in  the  great 
stampede  of  1849  to  California,  but 
had  found  his  gold  in  oranges,  lem- 
ons and  apricots  on  a  great  fruit 
ranch  at  Martinez,  California.  A 
brief  letter  from  Muir  told  of  his 
marriage,  with  just  one  note  in  it, 
the  depth  of  joy  and  peace  of  which 
I  could  fathom,  knowing  him  so  well. 
Then  no  word  of  him  until  the 
monthly  mailboat  came  in  Septem- 
ber. As  I  stood  on  the  wharf  with 
the  rest  of  the  Wrangell  population, 
as  was  the  custom  of  our  isolation, 
watching  the   boat   come   in,   I  was 

125 


126    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

overjoyed  to  see  John  Muir  on  deck, 
in  that  same  old,  long,  gray  ulster 
and  Scotch  cap.  He  waved  and 
shouted  at  me  before  the  boat 
touched  the  wharf. 

Springing  ashore  he  said,  "When 
can  you  be  ready?  " 

"Aren't  you  a  little  fast?"  I  re- 
plied. "What  does  this  mean? 
Where's  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Man,"  he  exclaimed,  "  have  you 
forgotten?  Don't  you  know  we  lost 
a  glacier  last  fall?  Do  you  think  I 
could  sleep  soundly  in  my  bed  this 
winter  with  that  hanging  on  my  con- 
science? My  wife  could  not  come, 
so  I  have  come  alone  and  you've  got 
to  go  with  me  to  find  the  lost.  Get 
your  canoe  and  crew  and  let  us  be 
off." 

The  ten  months  since  Muir  had 
left  me  had  not  been  spent  in  idleness 
at  Wrangell.  I  had  made  two  long 
voyages  of  discovery  and  missionary 


The  Lost  Glacier  127 

work  on  my  own  account, — one  in 
the  spring,  of  four  hundred  fifty 
miles  around  Prince  of  Wales 
Island,  visiting  the  five  towns  of 
Hydah  Indians  and  the  three  vil- 
lages of  the  Hanega  tribe  of  Thlin- 
gets.  Another  in  the  summer  down  the 
coast  to  the  Cape  Fox  and  Tongass 
tribes  of  Thlingets,  and  across  Dixon 
entrance  to  Ft.  Simpson,  where  there 
was  a  mission  among  the  Tsimphe- 
ans,  and  on  fifteen  miles  further  to 
the  famous  mission  of  Father  Dun- 
can at  Metlakahtla.  I  had  written 
accounts  of  these  trips  to  Muir;  but 
for  him  the  greatest  interest  was  in 
the  glaciers  and  mountains  of  the 
mainland. 

Our  preparations  were  soon  made. 
Alas!  we  could  not  have  our  noble 
old  captain,  Tow-a-att,  this  time.  On 
the  tenth  of  January,  1880, — the 
darkest  day  of  my  life, — this  "  no- 
blest Roman  of  them  all"  fell  dead 


128    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

at  my  feet  with  a  bullet  through  his 
forehead,  shot  by  a  member  of  that 
same  Hootz-noo  tribe  where  he  had 
preached  the  gospel  of  peace  so  sim- 
ply and  eloquently  a  few  months  be- 
fore. The  Hootz-noos,  maddened  by 
the  fiery  liquor  that  bore  their  name, 
came  to  Wrangell,  and  a  preliminary 
skirmish  led  to  an  attack  at  daylight 
of  that  winter  day  upon  the  Stickeen 
village.  Old  Tow-a-att  had  stood  for 
peace,  and  rather  than  have  any 
bloodshed  had  offered  all  his  blan- 
kets as  a  peace  offering,  although 
in  no  physical  fear  himself;  but  when 
the  Hootz-noos,  encouraged  by  the 
seeming  cowardice  of  the  Stickeens, 
broke  into  their  houses,  and  the 
Christianized  tribe,  provoked  beyond 
endurance,  came  out  with  their  guns, 
Tow-a-att  came  forth  armed  only 
with  his  old  carved  spear,  the  em- 
blem of  his  position  as  chief,  to  see 
if  he  could  not  call  his  tribe  back 


Q      •- 


The  Lost  Glacier  129 

again.  At  my  instance,  as  I  stood 
with  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  he 
lifted  up  his  voice  to  recall  his  peo- 
ple to  their  houses,  when,  in  an  in- 
stant, the  volley  commenced  on  both 
sides,  and  this  Christian  man,  one 
of  the  simplest  and  grandest  souls 
I  ever  knew,  fell  dead  at  my  feet,  and 
the  tribe  was  tumbled  back  into  bar- 
barism; and  the  white  man,  who  had 
taught  the  Indians  the  art  of  mak- 
ing rum,  and  the  white  man's  gov- 
ernment, which  had  afforded  no  safe- 
guard against  such  scenes,  were 
responsible. 

Muir  mourned  with  me  the  fate  of 
this  old  chief;  but  another  of  my  men, 
Lot  Tyeen,  was  ready  with  a  swift 
canoe.  Joe,  his  son-in-law,  and  Billy 
Dickinson,  a  half-breed  boy  of  seven- 
teen who  acted  as  interpreter,  formed 
the  crew.  When  we  were  about  to 
embark  I  suddenly  thought  of  my 
little    dog    Stickeen    and    made    the 


130    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

resolve  to  take  him  along.  My  wife 
and  Muir  both  protested  and  I  al- 
most yielded  to  their  persuasion.  I 
shudder  now  to  think  what  the  world 
would  have  lost  had  their  arguments 
prevailed!  That  little,  long-haired, 
brisk,  beautiful,  but  very  independ- 
ent dog,  in  co-ordination  with  Muir's 
genius,  was  to  give  to  the  world  one 
of  its  greatest  dog-classics.  Muir's 
story  of  "  Stickeen "  ranks  with 
"  Rab  and  His  Friends,"  "  Bob,  Son 
of  Battle,"  and  far  above  "  The  Call 
of  the  Wild."  Indeed,  in  subtle 
analysis  of  dog  character,  as  well 
as  beauty  of  description,  I  think  it 
outranks  all  of  them.  All  over  the 
world  men,  women  and  children  are 
reading  with  laughter,  thrills  and 
tears  this  exquisite  little  story. 

I  have  told  Muir  that  in  his  book 
he  did  not  do  justice  to  my  puppy's 
beauty.  I  think  that  he  was  the 
handsomest  dog  I  have  ever  known. 


The  Lost  Glacier  131 

His  markings  were  very  much  like 
those  of  an  American  Shepherd  dog 
— black,  white  and  tan;  although  he 
was  not  half  the  size  of  one;  but  his 
hair  was  so  silky  and  so  long,  his 
tail  so  heavily  fringed  and  beauti- 
fully curved,  his  eyes  so  deep  and 
expressive  and  his  shape  so  perfect 
in  its  graceful  contours,  that  I  have 
never  seen  another  dog  quite  like 
him;  otherwise  Muir's  description  of 
him  is  perfect. 

When  Stickeen  was  only  a  round 
ball  of  silky  fur  as  big  as  one's  fist, 
he  was  given  as  a  wedding  present  to 
my  bride,  two  years  before  this  voy- 
age. I  carried  him  in  my  overcoat 
pocket  to  and  from  the  steamer  as 
we  sailed  from  Sitka  to  Wrangell. 
Soon  after  we  arrived  a  solemn  dele- 
gation of  Stickeen  Indians  came  to 
call  on  the  bride;  but  as  soon  as  they 
saw  the  puppy  they  were  solemn  no 
longer.     His  gravely  humorous  an- 


132    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

tics  were  irresistible.  It  was  Moses 
who  named  him  Stickeen  after  their 
tribe — an  exceptional  honor.  There- 
after the  whole  tribe  adopted  and 
protected  him,  and  woe  to  the  In- 
dian dog  which  molested  him.  Once 
when  I  was  passing  the  house  of 
this  same  Lot  Tyeen,  one  of  his 
large  hunting  dogs  dashed  out  at 
Stickeen  and  began  to  worry  him. 
Lot  rescued  the  little  fellow,  deliv- 
ered him  to  me  and  walked  into  his 
house.  Soon  he  came  out  with  his 
gun,  and  before  I  knew  what  he 
was  about  he  had  shot  the  offend- 
ing Indian  dog — a  valuable  hunting 
animal. 

Stickeen  lacked  the  obtrusively  af- 
fectionate manner  of  many  of  his 
species,  did  not  like  to  be  fussed 
over,  would  even  growl  when  our 
babies  enmeshed  their  hands  in  his 
long  hair;  and  yet,  to  a  degree  I 
have  never  known  in   another   dog, 


The  Lost  Glacier  133 

he  attracted  the  attention  of  every- 
body and  won  all  hearts. 

As  instances:  Dr.  Kendall,  "The 
Grand  Old  Man  "  of  our  Church,  dur- 
ing his  visit  of  1879  used  to  break 
away  from  solemn  counsels  with  the 
other  D.D.s  and  the  carpenters  to 
run  after  and  shout  at  Stickeen. 
And  Mrs.  McFarland,  the  Mother  of 
Protestant  missions  in  Alaska,  often 
begged  us  to  give  her  the  dog;  and, 
when  later  he  was  stolen  from  her 
care  by  an  unscrupulous  tourist  and 
so  forever  lost  to  us,  she  could  hardly 
afterwards  speak  of  him  without 
tears. 

Stickeen  was  a  born  aristocrat, 
dainty  and  scrupulously  clean.  From 
puppyhood  he  never  cared  to  play 
with  the  Indian  dogs,  and  I  was 
often  amused  to  see  the  dignified  but 
decided  way  in  which  he  repulsed  all 
attempts  at  familiarity  on  the  part  of 
the   Indian   children.     He   admitted 


134    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

to  his  friendship  only  a  few  of  the 
natives,  choosing  those  who  had 
adopted  the  white  man's  dress  and 
mode  of  living,  and  were  devoid  of 
the  rank  native  odors.  His  likes 
and  dislikes  were  very  strong  and 
always  evident  from  the  moment  of 
his  meeting  with  a  stranger.  There 
was  something  almost  uncanny 
about  the  accuracy  of  his  judgment 
when  "  sizing  up  "  a  man. 

It  was  Stickeen  himself  who  really 
decided  the  question  whether  we 
should  take  him  with  us  on  this  trip. 
He  listened  to  the  discussion,  pro 
and  con,  as  he  stood  with  me  on  the 
wharf,  turning  his  sharp,  expressive 
eyes  and  sensitive  ears  up  to  me  or 
down  to  Muir  in  the  canoe.  ^Vhen 
the  argument  seemed  to  be  going 
against  the  dog  he  suddenly  turned, 
deliberately  walked  down  the  gang- 
plank to  the  canoe,  picked  his  steps 
carefully  to  the  bow,  where  my  seat 


The  Lost  Glacier  135 

with  Muir  was  arranged,  and  curled 
himself  down  on  my  coat.  The  dis- 
cussion ended  abruptly  in  a  general 
laugh,  and  Stickeen  went  along. 

Then  the  acute  little  fellow  set 
about,  in  the  wisest  possible  way,  to 
conquer  Muir.  He  was  not  obtru- 
sive, never  "butted  in";  never  of- 
fended by  a  too  affectionate  tongue. 
He  listened  silently  to  discussions  on 
his  merits,  those  first  days;  but  when 
Muir's  comparisons  of  the  brilliant 
dogs  of  his  acquaintance  with  Stick- 
een grew  too  "  odious "  Stickeen 
would  rise,  yawn  openly  and  retire 
to  a  distance,  not  slinkingly,  but  with 
tail  up,  and  lie  down  again  out  of 
earshot  of  such  calumnies.  When 
we  landed  after  a  day's  journey 
Stickeen  was  always  the  first  ashore, 
exploring  for  field  mice  and  squir- 
rels; but  when  we  would  start  to  the 
woods,  the  mountains  or  the  glaciers 
the  dog  would  join  us,  coming  mys- 


136    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

teriously  from  the  forest.  When  our 
paths  separated,  Stickeen,  looking  to 
me  for  permission,  would  follow 
Muir,  trotting  at  first  behind  him, 
but  gradually  ranging  alongside. 

After  a  few  days  Muir  changed  his 
tone,  saying,  "  There's  more  in  that 
wee  beastie  than  I  thought";  and 
before  a  week  passed  Stickeen's  vic- 
tory was  complete;  he  slept  at  Muir's 
feet,  went  with  him  on  all  his  ram- 
bles; and  even  among  dangerous 
crevasses  or  far  up  the  steep  slopes 
of  granite  mountains  the  little  dog's 
splendid  tail  would  be  seen  ahead  of 
Muir,  waving  cheery  signals  to  his 
new-found  human  companion. 

Our  canoe  was  light  and  easily 
propelled.  Our  outfit  was  very  sim- 
ple, for  this  was  to  be  a  quick  voyage 
and  there  were  not  to  be  so  many 
missionary  visits  this  time.  It  was 
principally  a  voyage  of  discovery; 
we  were  in  search  of  the  glacier  that 


The  Lost  Glacier  137 

we  had  lost.  Perched  in  the  high 
stern  sat  our  captain,  Lot  Tyeen, 
massive  and  capable,  handling  his 
broad  steering  paddle  with  power 
and  skill.  In  front  of  him  Joe  and 
Billy  pulled  oars,  Joe,  a  strong  young 
man,  our  cook,  hunter  and  best  oars- 
man; Billy,  a  lad  of  seventeen,  our 
interpreter  and  Joe's  assistant.  To- 
wards the  bow,  just  behind  the  mast, 
sat  Muir  and  I,  each  with  a  paddle 
in  his  hands.  Stickeen  slumbered 
at  our  feet  or  gazed  into  our  faces 
when  our  conversation  interested 
him.  When  we  began  to  discuss  a 
landing  place  he  would  climb  the  high 
bow  and  brace  himself  on  the  top  of 
the  beak,  an  animated  figure-head, 
ready  to  jump  into  the  water  when 
we  were  about  to  camp. 

Our  route  was  different  from  that 
of  '79.  Now  we  struck  through 
Wrangell  Narrows,  that  tortuous 
and  narrow  passage  between  Mitkof 


138    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

and  Kupreanof  Islands,  past  Norris 
Glacier  with  its  far-flung  shaft  of 
ice  appearing  above  the  forests  as  if 
suspended  in  air;  past  the  bold  Pt. 
Windham  with  its  bluff  of  three 
thousand  feet  frowning  upon  the  wa- 
ters of  Prince  Frederick  Sound; 
across  Port  Houghton,  whose  deep 
fiord  had  no  ice  in  it  and,  therefore, 
was  not  worthy  of  an  extended  visit. 
We  made  all  haste,  for  Muir  was,  as 
the  Indians  said,  "  always  hungry 
for  ice,"  and  this  was  more  espe- 
cially his  expedition.  He  was  the 
commander  now,  as  I  had  been  the 
year  before.  He  had  set  for  him- 
self the  limit  of  a  month  and  must 
return  by  the  October  boat.  Often 
we  ran  until  late  at  night  against 
the  protests  of  our  Indians,  whose 
life  of  infinite  leisure  was  not  ac- 
customed to  such  rude  interruption. 
They  could  not  understand  Muir  at 
all,  nor  in  the  least  comprehend  his 


The  Lost  Glacier  139 

objec?  in  visiting  icy  bays  where 
there  was  no  chance  of  finding  gold 
and  nothing  to  hunt. 

The  vision  rises  before  me,  as  my 
mind  harks  back  to  this  second  trip 
of  seven  hundred  miles,  of  cold,  rainy 
nights,  when,  urged  by  Muir  to  make 
one  more  point,  the  natives  passed 
the  last  favorable  camping  place  and 
we  blindly  groped  for  hours  in  pitchy 
darkness,  trying  to  find  a  friendly 
beach.  The  intensely  phosphores- 
cent water  flashed  about  us,  the  only 
relief  to  the  inky  blackness  of  the 
night.  Occasionally  a  salmon  or  a 
big  halibut,  disturbed  by  our  canoe, 
went  streaming  like  a  meteor 
through  the  water,  throwing  off 
coruscations  of  light.  As  we  neared 
the  shore,  the  waves  breaking  upon 
the  rocks  furnished  us  the  only  illu- 
mination. Sometimes  their  black 
tops  with  waving  seaweed,  sur- 
rounded by  phosphorescent  breakers, 


140    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

would  have  the  appearance  of  mouths 
set  with  gleaming  teeth  rushing  at 
us  out  of  the  dark  as  if  to  devour 
us.  Then  would  come  the  landing 
on  a  sandy  beach,  the  march  through 
the  seaweed  up  to  the  wet  woods,  a 
fusillade  of  exploding  fucus  pods  ac- 
companying us  as  if  the  outraged 
fairies  were  bombarding  us  with  tiny 
guns.  Then  would  ensue  a  tedious 
groping  with  the  lantern  for  a  camp- 
ing place  and  for  some  dry,  fat  spruce 
wood  from  which  to  coax  a  fire ;  then 
the  big  camp-fire,  the  bean-pot  and 
coffee-pot,  the  cheerful  song  and 
story,  and  the  deep,  dreamless  sleep 
that  only  the  weary  voyageur  or, 
hunter  can  know. 

Four  or  five  days  sufficed  to  bring 
us  to  our  first  objective — Sumdum  or 
Holkham  Bay,  with  its  three  won- 
derful arms.  Here  we  were  to  find 
the  lost  glacier.  This  deep  fiord  has 
two  great  prongs.     Neither  of  them 


The  Lost  Glacier  141 

figured  in  Vancouver's  chart,  and 
so  far  as  records  go  we  were  the 
first  to  enter  and  follow  to  its  end 
the  longest  of  these,  Endicott  Arm. 
We  entered  the  bay  at  night,  caught 
again  by  the  darkness,  and  groped 
our  way  uncertainly.  We  probably 
would  have  spent  most  of  the  night 
trying  to  find  a  landing  place  had  not 
the  gleam  of  a  fire  greeted  us,  flash- 
ing through  the  trees,  disappearing 
as  an  island  intervened,  and  again 
opening  up  with  its  fair  ray  as  we 
pushed  on.  An  hour's  steady  pad- 
dling brought  us  to  the  camp  of  some 
Cassiar  miners — my  friends.  They 
were  here  at  the  foot  of  a  glacier 
stream,  from  the  bed  of  which  they 
had  been  sluicing  gold.  Just  now 
they  were  in  hard  luck,  as  the  con- 
stant rains  had  swelled  the  glacial 
stream,  burst  through  their  wing- 
dams,  swept  away  their  sluice-boxes 
and  destroyed  the  work  of  the  sum- 


142    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

men  Strong  men  of  the  wilderness 
as  they  were,  they  were  not  discour- 
aged, but  were  discussing  plans  for 
prospecting  new  places  and  trying  it 
again  here  next  summer.  Hot  cof- 
fee and  fried  venison  emphasized 
their  welcome,  and  we  in  return 
could  give  them  a  little  news  from 
the  outside  world,  from  which  they 
had  been  shut  off  completely  for 
months. 

Muir  called  us  before  daylight  the 
next  morning.  He  had  been  up  since 
two  or  three  o'clock,  "  studying  the 
night  effects,"  he  said,  listening  to 
the  roaring  and  crunching  of  the 
charging  ice  as  it  came  out  of  Endi- 
cott  Arm,  spreading  out  like  the  skir- 
mish line  of  an  army  and  grinding 
against  the  rocky  point  just  below  us. 
He  had  even  attempted  a  moonlight 
climb  up  the  sloping  face  of  a  high 
promontory  with  Stickeen  as  his 
companion,  but  was  unable  to  get  to 


The  Lost  Glacier  143 

the  top,  owing  to  the  smoothness  of 
the  granite  rock.  It  was  newly  gla- 
ciated— this  whole  region — and  the 
hard  rubbing  ice-tools  had  polished 
the  granite  like  a  monument.  A 
hasty  meal  and  we  were  off. 

"We'll  find  it  this  time,"  said 
Muir. 

A  miner  crawled  out  of  his  blan- 
kets and  came  to  see  us  start.  "  If 
it's  scenery  you're  after,"  he  said, 
"  ten  miles  up  the  bay  there's  the 
nicest  canyon  you  ever  saw.  It  has 
no  name  that  I  know  of,  but  it  is  sure 
some  scenery." 

The  long,  straight  fiord  stretched 
southeast  into  the  heart  of  the  gran- 
ite range,  its  funnel  shape  producing 
tremendous  tides.  When  the  tide 
was  ebbing  that  charging  phalanx 
of  ice  was  irresistible,  storming  down 
the  canyon  with  race-horse  speed; 
no  canoe  could '  stem  that  current. 
We  waited  until  the  turn,  then  get- 


144    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

ting  inside  the  outer  fleet  of  ice- 
bergs we  paddled  up  with  the  flood 
tide.  Mile  after  mile  we  raced  past 
those  smooth  mountain  shoulders; 
higher  and  higher  they  towered,  and 
the  ice,  closing  in  upon  us,  threat- 
ened a  trap.  The  only  way  to  navi- 
gate safely  that  dangerous  fiord  was 
to  keep  ahead  of  the  charging  ice. 
As  we  came  up  towards  the  end  of 
the  bay  the  narrowing  walls  of  the 
fiord  compressed  the  ice  until  it 
crowded  dangerously  around  us. 
Our  captain,  Lot,  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  put  a  false  bow  and  stern 
on  his  canoe,  cunningly  fashioned  out 
of  curved  branches  of  trees  and  hol- 
lowed with  his  hand-adz  to  fit  the 
ends  of  the  canoe.  These  were 
lashed  to  the  bow  and  stern  by 
thongs  of  deer  sinew.  They  were 
needed.  It  was  like  penetrating  an 
arctic  ice-floe.  Sometimes  we  would 
have  to  skirt  the  granite  rock  and 


The  Lost  Glacier  145 

with  our  poles  shove  out  the  ice- 
cakes  to  secure  a  passage.  It  was 
fully  thirty  miles  to  the  head  of  the 
bay,  but  we  made  it  in  half  a  day, 
so  strong  was  the  current  of  the  ris- 
ing tide. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  view  that 
burst  upon  us  as  we  rounded  the  last 
point.  The  face  of  the  glacier  where 
it  discharged  its  icebergs  was  very 
narrow  in  comparison  with  the  gi- 
ants of  Glacier  Bay,  but  the  ice  cliff 
was  higher  than  even  the  face  of 
Muir  Glacier.  The  narrow  canyon 
of  hard  granite  had  compressed  the 
ice  of  the  great  glacier  until  it  had 
the  appearance  of  a  frozen  torrent 
broken  into  innumerable  crevasses, 
the  great  masses  of  ice  tumbling  over 
one  another  and  bulging  out  for  a 
few  moments  before  they  came 
crashing  and  splashing  down  into 
the  deep  water  of  the  bay.  The 
fiord    was    simply    a    cleft    in    high 


146    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

mountains,  and  the  depth  of  the  wa- 
ter could  only  be  conjectured.  It 
must  have  been  hundreds  of  feet, 
perhaps  thousands,  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  to  the  bottom  of 
that  fissure.  Smooth,  polished,  shin- 
ing breasts  of  bright  gray  granite 
crowded  above  the  glacier  on  every 
side,  seeming  to  overhang  the  ice  and 
the  bay.  Struggling  clumps  of  ever- 
greens clung  to  the  mountain  sides 
below  the  glacier,  and  up,  away  up, 
dizzily  to  the  sky  towered  the  walls 
of  the  canyon.  Hundreds  of  other 
Alaskan  glaciers  excel  this  in  masses 
of  ice  and  in  grandeur  of  front,  but 
none  that  I  have  seen  condense 
beauty  and  grandeur  to  finer  results. 
"  What  a  plucky  little  giant !  "  was 
Muir's  exclamation  as  we  stood  on 
a  rock-mound  in  front  of  this  gla- 
cier. "  To  think  of  his  shouldering 
his  way  through  the  mountain  range 
like   this!     Samson,   pushing   down 


The  Lost  Glacier  147 

the  pillars  of  the  temple  at  Gaza,  was 
nothing  to  this  fellow.  Hear  him 
roar  and  laugh !  " 

Without  consulting  me  Muir 
named  this  "  Young  Glacier,"  and 
right  proud  was  I  to  see  that  name 
on  the  charts  for  the  next  ten  years 
or  more,  for  we  mapped  Endicott 
Arm  and  the  other  arm  of  Sumdum 
Bay  as  we  had  Glacier  Bay;  but  later 
maps  have  a  different  name.  Some 
ambitious  young  ensign  on  a  survey- 
ing vessel,  perhaps,  stole  my  glacier, 
and  later  charts  give  it  the  name  of 
Dawes.  I  have  not  found  in  the 
Alaskan  statute  books  any  penalty 
attached  to  the  crime  of  stealing 
a  glacier,  but  certainly  it  ought  to 
be  ranked  as  a  felony  of  the  first 
magnitude,  the  grandest  of  grand 
larcenies. 

A  couple  of  days  and  nights  spent 
in  the  vicinity  of  Young  Glacier  were 
a  period  of  unmixed  pleasure.    Muir 


148    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

spent  all  of  these  days  and  part  of 
the  nights  climbing  the  pinnacled 
mountains  to  this  and  that  view- 
point, crossing  the  deep,  narrow  and 
dangerous  glacier  five  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  explore 
ing  its  tributaries  and  their  side 
canyons,  making  sketches  in  his 
note-book  for  future  elaboration. 
Stickeen  by  this  time  constantly  fol- 
lowed Muir,  exciting  my  jealousy  by 
his  plainly  expressed  preference.  Be- 
cause of  my  bad  shoulder  the  higher 
and  steeper  ascents  of  this  very 
rugged  region  were  impossible  to 
me,  and  I  must  content  myself  with 
two  thousand  feet  and  even  lesser 
climbs.  My  favorite  perch  was  on 
the  summit  of  a  sugar-loaf  rock 
which  formed  the  point  of  a  promon- 
tory jutting  into  the  bay  directly 
in  front  of  my  glacier,  and  distant 
from  its  face  less  than  a  quarter  of 
a  mile.     It  was  a  granite  fragment 


The  Lost  Glacier  149 

which  had  evidently  been  broken 
off  from  the  mountain;  indeed,  there 
was  a  niche  five  thousand  feet  above 
into  which  it  would  exactly  fit.  The 
sturdy  evergreens  struggled  half- 
way up  its  sides,  but  the  top  was 
bare. 

On  this  splendid  pillar  I  spent 
many  hours.  Generally  I  could  see 
Muir,  fortunate  in  having  sound  arms 
and  legs,  scaling  the  high  rock-faces, 
now  coming  out  on  a  jutting  spur, 
now  spread  like  a  spider  against  the 
mountain  wall.  Here  he  would  be 
botanizing  in  a  patch  of  green  that 
relieved  the  gray  of  the  granite, 
there  he  was  dodging  in  and  out  of 
the  blue  crevasses  of  the  upper  gla- 
cial falls.  Darting  before  him  or 
creeping  behind  was  a  little  black 
speck  which  I  made  out  to  be  Stick- 
een,  climbing  steeps  up  which  a  fox 
would  hardly  venture.  Occasionally 
I  would  see  him  dancing  about  at 


150    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

the  base  of  a  cliff  too  steep  for  him, 
up  which  Muir  was  climbing,  and 
his  piercing  howls  of  protest  at  be- 
ing left  behind  would  come  echoing 
down  to  me. 

But  chiefly  I  was  engrossed  in  the 
great  drama  which  was  being  acted 
before  me  by  the  glacier  itself.  It 
was  the  battle  of  gravity  with  flinty 
hardness  and  strong  cohesion.  The 
stage  setting  was  perfect;  the  great 
hall  formed  by  encircling  mountains; 
the  side  curtains  of  dark-green  for- 
est, fold  on  fold;  the  gray  and  brown 
top-curtains  of  the  mountain  heights 
stretching  clear  across  the  glacier, 
relieved  by  vivid  moss  and  flower 
patches  of  yellow,  magenta,  violet 
and  crimson.  But  the  face  of  the 
glacier  was  so  high  and  rugged  and 
the  ice  so  pure  that  it  showed  a  va- 
riety of  blue  and  purple  tints  I  have 
never  seen  surpassed  —  baby-blue, 
sky-blue,     sapphire,     turquoise,     co- 


.^      p    (U 


The  Lost  Glacier  151 

bait,  indigo,  peacock,  ultra-marine, 
shading  at  the  top  into  lilac  and 
amethyst.  The  base  of  the  glacier- 
face,  next  to  the  dark-green  water 
of  the  bay,  resembled  a  great  mass 
of  vitriol,  while  the  top,  where  it 
swept  out  of  the  canyon,  had  the 
curves  and  tints  and  delicate  lines 
of  the  iris. 

But  the  glacier  front  was  not  still; 
in  form  and  color  it  was  changing 
every  minute.  The  descent  was  so 
steep  that  the  glacial  rapids  above 
the  bay  must  have  flowed  forward 
eighty  or  a  hundred  feet  a  day.  The 
ice  cliff,  towering  a  thousand  feet 
over  the  water,  would  present  a 
slight  incline  from  the  perpendicular 
inwards  toward  the  canyon,  the  face 
being  white  from  powdered  ice,  the 
result  of  the  grinding  descent  of  the 
ice  masses.  Here  and  there  would 
be  little  cascades  of  this  fine  ice 
spraying  out  as  they  fell,  with  glints 


152    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

of  prismatic  colors  when  the  sun- 
light struck  them.  As  I  gazed  I 
could  see  the  whole  upper  part  of 
the  cliff  slowly  moving  forward  un- 
til the  ice-face  was  vertical.  Then, 
foot  by  foot  it  would  be  pushed  out 
until  the  upper  edge  overhung  the 
water.  Now  the  outer  part,  denuded 
of  the  ice  powder,  would  present  a 
face  of  delicate  blue  with  darker 
shades  where  the  mountain  peaks 
cast  their  shadows.  Suddenly  from 
top  to  bottom  of  the  ice  cliff  two 
deep  lines  of  prussian  blue  appeared. 
They  were  crevasses  made  by  the 
ice  current  flowing  more  rapidly  in 
the  center  of  the  stream.  Fasci- 
nated, I  watched  this  great  pyramid 
of  blue-veined  onyx  lean  forward 
until  it  became  a  tower  of  Pisa,  with 
fragments  falling  thick  and  fast 
from  its  upper  apex  and  from  the 
cliffs  out  of  which  it  had  been  split. 
Breathless   and   anxious,    I   awaited 


The  Lost  Glacier  153 

the  final  catastrophe,  and  its  long 
delay  became  almost  a  greater  strain 
than  I  could  bear.  I  jumped  up  and 
down  and  waved  my  arms  and 
shouted  at  the  glacier  to  "  hurry 
up." 

Suddenly  the  climax  came  in  a  sur- 
prising way.  The  great  tower  of 
crystal  shot  up  into  the  air  two  hun- 
dred feet  or  more,  impelled  by  the 
pressure  of  a  hundred  fathoms  of 
water,  and  then,  toppling  over,  came 
crashing  into  the  water  with  a  roar 
as  of  rending  mountains.  Its  weight 
of  thousands  of  tons,  falling  from 
such  a  height,  splashed  great  sheets 
of  water  high  into  the  air,  and  a 
rainbow  of  wondrous  brilliance 
flashed  and  vanished.  A  mighty 
wave  swept  majestically  down  the 
bay,  rocking  the  massive  bergs  like 
corks,  and,  breaking  against  my 
granite  pillar,  tossed  its  spray  half- 
way up  to  my  lofty  perch.     Muir's 


154    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

shout  of  applause  and  Stickeen's 
sharp  bark  came  faintly  to  my  ears 
when  the  deep  rumbling  of  the  newly 
formed  icebergs  had  subsided. 

That  night  I  waited  supper  long 
for  Muir.  It  was  a  good  supper — 
a  mulligan  stew  of  mallard  duck, 
with  biscuits  and  coffee.  Stickeen 
romped  into  camp  about  ten  o'clock 
and  his  new  master  soon  followed. 

"Ah!"  sighed  Muir  between  sips 
of  coffee,  "  what  a  Lord's  mercy  it 
is  that  we  lost  this  glacier  last  fall, 
when  we  were  pressed  for  time,  to 
find  it  again  in  these  glorious  days 
that  have  flashed  out  of  the  mists 
for  our  special  delectation.  This 
has  been  a  day  of  days.  I  have 
found  four  new  varieties  of  moss, 
and  have  learned  many  new  and 
wonderful  facts  about  world-shaping. 
And  then,  the  wonder  and  glory! 
Why,  all  the  values  of  beauty  and 
sublimity — form,   color,   motion   and 


The  Lost  Glacier  155 

sound — have  been  present  to-day  at 
their  very  best.  My  friend,  we  are 
the  richest  men  in  all  the  world 
to-night." 

Charging  down  the  canyon  with 
the  charging  ice  on  our  return,  we 
kept  to  the  right-hand  shore,  on  the 
watch  for  the  mouth  of  the  canyon 
of  "  some  scenery."  We  had  not 
been  able  to  discover  it  from  the 
other  side  as  we  ascended  the  fiord. 
We  were  almost  swept  past  the 
mouth  of  it  by  the  force  of  the  cur- 
rent. Paddling  into  an  eddy,  we 
were  suddenly  halted  as  if  by  a 
strong  hand  pushed  against  the  bow, 
for  the  current  was  flowing  like  a 
cataract  out  of  the  narrow  mouth  of 
this  side  canyon.  A  rocky  shelf  af- 
forded us  a  landing  place.  We* 
hastily  unloaded  the  canoe  and  pulled 
it  up  upon  the  beach  out  of  reach  of 
the  floating  ice,  and  there  we  had 
to  wait  until  the  next  morning  be- 


156    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

fore  we  could  penetrate  the  depths 
of  this  great  canyon. 

We  shot  through  the  mouth  of  the 
canyon  at  dangerous  speed.  In- 
deed, we  could  not  do  otherwise;  we 
were  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  the 
torrent.  At  certain  stages  the  surg- 
ing tide  forms  an  actual  fall,  for  the 
entrance  is  so  narrow  that  the  wa- 
ter heaps  up  and  pours  over.  We 
took  the  beginning  of  the  flood  tide, 
and  so  escaped  that  danger;  but  our 
speed  must  have  been,  at  the  nar- 
rows, twenty  miles  an  hour.  Then, 
suddenly,  the  bay  widened  out,  the 
water  ceased  to  swirl  and  boil  and 
the  current  became  gentle. 

When  we  could  lay  aside  our  pad- 
dles and  look  up,  one  of  the  most 
glorious  views  of  the  whole  world 
"  smote  us  in  the  face,"  and  Muir's 
chant  arose,  "  Praise  God  from  whom 
all  blessings  flow." 

Before  entering  this  bay  I  had  ex- 


The  Lost  Glacier  157 

pressed  a  wish  to  see  Yosemite 
Valley.  Now  Muir  said:  "There  is 
your  Yosemite;  only  this  one  is  on 
much  the  grander  scale.  Yonder 
towers  El  Capitan,  grown  to  twice 
his  natural  size;  there  are  the  Senti- 
nel, and  the  majestic  Dome;  and 
see  all  the  falls.  Those  three  have 
some  resemblance  to  Yosemite  Falls, 
Nevada  and  Bridal  Veil;  but  the 
mountain  breasts  from  which  they 
leap  are  much  higher  than  in  Yo- 
semite, and  the  sheer  drop  much 
greater.  And  there  are  so  many 
more  of  these  and  they  fall  into  the 
sea.  We'll  call  this  Yosemite  Bay — 
a  bigger  Yosemite,  as  Alaska  is  big- 
ger than  California." 

Two  very  beautiful  glaciers  lay  at 
the  head  of  this  canyon.  They  did 
not  descend  to.  the  water,  but  the 
narrow  strip  of  moraine  matter  with- 
out vegetation  upon  it  between  the 
glaciers    and    the   bay   showed    that 


158    Alaska  Days  witH  John  Muir 

it  had  not  been  long  since  they  were 
glaciers  of  the  first  class,  sending 
out  a  stream  of  icebergs  to  join  those 
from  the  Young  Glacier.  These  gla- 
ciers stretched  away  miles  and  miles, 
like  two  great  antennae,  from  the 
head  of  the  bay  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain  range.  But  the  most  strik- 
ing features  of  this  scene  were  the 
wonderfully  rounded  and  polished 
granite  breasts  of  these  great  heights. 
In  one  stretch  of  about  a  mile  on 
either  side  of  the  narrow  bay  par- 
allel mouldings,  like  massive  cor- 
nices of  gray  granite,  five  or  six 
thousand  feet  high,  overhung  the 
water.  These  had  been  fluted  and 
rounded  and  polished  by  the  glacier 
stream,  until  they  seemed  like  the 
upper  walls  and  Corinthian  capitals 
of  a  great  temple.  The  power  of 
the  ice  stream  could  be  seen  in  the 
striated  shoulders  of  these  cliffs. 
[What  awful  force  that  tool  of  steel- 


The  Lost  Glacier  159 

like  ice  must  have  possessed,  driven 
by  millions  of  tons  of  weight,  to 
mould  and  shape  and  scoop  out  these; 
flinty  rock  faces,  as  the  carpenter's 
forming  plane  flutes  a  board! 

When  we  were  half-way  up  this 
wonderful  bay  the  sun  burst  through 
a  rift  of  cloud.  ''Look,  look!"  ex- 
claimed Muir.  "  Nature  is  turning 
on  the  colored  lights  in  her  great 
show  house." 

Instantly  this  severe,  bare  hall  of 
polished  rock  was  transformed  into 
a  fairy  palace.  A  score  of  cascades, 
the  most  of  them  invisible  before, 
leapt  into  view,  falling  from  the 
dizzy  mountain  heights  and  spraying 
into  misty  veils  as  they  descended; 
and  from  all  of  them  flashed  rain- 
bows of  marvelous  distinctness  and 
brilliance,  waving  and  dancing — a 
very  riot  of  color.  The  tinkling  wa- 
ter falling  into  the  bay  waked  a 
thousand  echoes,  weird,  musical  and 


160    Alaska  Days  with  JoHn  Muir 

sweet,  a  riot  of  sound.  It  was  an 
enchanted  palace,  and  we  left  it  with 
reluctance,  remaining  only  six  hours 
and  going  out  at  the  turn  of  the  flood 
tide  to  escape  the  dangerous  rapids. 
Had  there  not  been  so  many  things 
to  see  beyond,  and  so  little  time  in 
which  to  see  them,  I  doubt  if  Muir 
would  have  quit  Yosemite  Bay  for 
days. 


THE  DOG  AND  THE  MAN 


MY  FRIENDS 

Two  friends  I  have,  and  close  akin  are  they. 

For  both  are  free 

And  wild  and  proud,  full  of  the  ecstasy 
Of  life  untrammeled ;  living,  day  by  day, 
A  law  unto  themselves ;  yet  breaking  none 

Of  Nature's  perfect  code. 
And  far  afield,  remote  from  man's  abode, 
They  roam  the  wilds  together,  two  as  one. 

Yet,  one's  a  dog — a  wisp  of  silky  hair, 

Two  sharp  black  eyes, 
A  face  alert,  mysterious  and  wise, 
A  shadowy  tail,  a  body  lithe  and  fair. 
And  one's  a  man — of  Nature's  work  the  best, 

A  heart  of  gold, 
A  mind  stored  full  of  treasures  new  and  old, 
Of  men  the  greatest,  strongest,  tenderest. 

They  love  each  other — ^these  two  friends  of  mine — 

Yet  both  agree 
In  this — with  that  pure  love  that's  half  divine 

They  both  love  me. 


VI 

THE  DOG  AND  THE  MAN 

THERE  is  no  time  to  tell  of  alf 
the  bays  we  explored;  of 
Holkham  Bay,  Port  Snet- 
tisham,  Tahkou  Harbor;  all  of  which 
we  rudely  put  on  the  map,  or 
at  least  extended  the  arms  be- 
yond what  was  previously  known. 
Through  Gastineau  Channel,  now 
famous  for  some  of  the  greatest 
quartz  mines  and  mills  in  the  world, 
we  pushed,  camping  on  the  site  of 
what  is  now  Juneau,  the  capital  city 
of  Alaska. 

An  interesting  bit  of  history  is  to 
be  recorded  here.  Pushing  across 
the  flats  at  the  head  of  the  bay  at 
high  tide  the  next  morning  (for  the 
narrow,   grass-covered   flat   between 

163 


il64!    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

Gastineau  Channel  and  Stevens 
Passage  can  only  be  crossed  with 
canoes  at  flood  tide),  we  met  two  old 
gold  prospectors  whom  I  had  fre- 
quently seen  at  Wrangell — ^Joe  Har- 
ris and  Joe  Juneau.  Exchanging 
greetings  and  news,  they  told  us 
they  were  out  from  Sitka  on  a 
leisurely  hunting  and  prospecting 
trip.  Asking  us  about  our  last  camp- 
ing place,  Harris  said  to  Juneau, 
"  Suppose  we  camp  there  and  try  the 
gravel  of  that  creek." 

These  men  found  placer  gold  and 
rock  "  float "  at  our  camp  and  made 
quite  a  clean-up  that  fall,  returning 
to  Sitka  with  a  "  gold-poke "  suffi- 
ciently plethoric  to  start  a  stampede 
to  the  new  diggings.  Both  placer 
and  quartz  locations  were  made  and 
a  brisk  *'  camp  "  was  built  the  next 
summer.  This  town  was  first  called 
Harrisburg  for  one  of  the  prospect- 
orS;j  and  afterwards  Juneau  for  th^ 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        165 

other.  The  great  Treadwell  gold 
quartz  mine  was  located  three  miles 
from  Juneau  in  1881,  and  others  sub- 
sequently. The  territorial  capital 
was  later  removed  from  Sitka  to 
Juneau,  and  the  city  has  grown  in 
size  and  importance,  until  it  is  one 
of  the  great  mining  and  commercial 
centers  of  the  Northwest. 

Through  Stevens  Passage  we  pad- 
dled, stopping  to  preach  to  the  Auk 
Indians;  then  down  Chatham  Strait 
and  into  Icy  Strait,  where  the  crystal 
masses  of  Muir  and  Pacific  glaciers 
flashed  a  greeting  from  afar.  We 
needed  no  Hoonah  guide  this  time, 
and  it  was  well  we  did  not,  for  both 
Hoonah  villages  were  deserted.  The 
inhabitants  had  gone  to  their 
hunting,  fishing  or  berry-picking 
grounds. 

At  Pleasant  Island  we  loaded,  as 
on  the  previous  trip,  with  dry  wood 
for    our    voyage    into    Glacier    Bay. 


166    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

We  were  not  to  attempt  the  head 
of  the  bay  this  time,  but  to  confine 
our  exploration  to  Muir  Glacier, 
which  we  had  only  touched  upon  the 
previous  fall.  Pleasant  Island  was 
the  scene  of  one  of  Stickeen's  many 
escapades.  The  little  island  fairly 
teemed  with  big  field  mice  and  pine 
squirrels,  and  Stickeen  went  wild. 
We  could  hear  his  shrill  bark,  now 
here,  now  there,  from  all  parts  of 
the  island.  When  we  were  ready 
to  leave  the  next  morning  he  was 
not  to  be  seen.  We  got  aboard  as 
usual,  thinking  that  he  would  fol- 
low. A  quarter  of  a  mile's  paddling 
and  still  no  little  black  head  could  be 
discovered  in  our  wake.  Muir,  who 
was  becoming  very  much  attached  to 
the  little  dog,  was  plainly  worried. 

"  Row  back,"  he  said. 

So  we  rowed  back  and  called,  but 
no  Stickeen.  Around  the  next 
point  we  rowed  and  whistled;  still 


The  Dog  and  the  Man       167 

no  Stickeen.  At  last,  discouraged, 
I  gave  the  signal  to  move  off.  So  we 
rounded  the  curving  shore  and 
pushed  towards  Glacier  Bay.  At  the 
far  point  of  the  island,  a  mile  from 
our  camping  place,  we  suddenly  dis- 
covered Stickeen  away  out  in  the 
water,  paddling  calmly  and  confi- 
dently towards  our  canoe.  How  he 
had  ever  got  there  I  cannot  imagine. 
I  think  he  must  have  been  taking 
a  long  swim  out  on  the  bay  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  it.  Muir  always  in- 
sisted that  he  had  listened  to  our 
discussion  of  the  route  to  be  taken, 
and,  with  an  uncanny  intuition  that 
approached  clairvoyance,  knew  just 
where  to  head  us  off. 

When  we  took  him  aboard  he 
went  through  his  usual  performance, 
making  his  way,  the  whole  length  of 
the  canoe,  until  he  got  under  Muir's 
legs,  before  shaking  himself.  No 
protests    or    discipline    availed,    for 


168    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

Muir's  kicks  always  failed  of  their 
pretended  mark.  To  the  end  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Muir,  he  always 
chose  the  vicinity  of  Muir's  legs  as 
the  place  to  shake  himself  after  a 
swim. 

At  Muir  Glacier  we  spent  a  week 
this  time,  making  long  trips  up  the 
mountains  that  overlooked  the  gla- 
cier and  across  its  surface.  On  one 
occasion  Muir,  with  the  little  dog  at 
his  heels,  crossed  entirely  in  a  di- 
agonal direction  the  great  glacial 
lake,  a  trip  of  some  thirty  miles, 
starting  before  daylight  in  the  morn- 
ing and  not  appearing  at  camp  until 
long  after  dark.  Muir  always  car- 
ried several  handkerchiefs  in  his 
pockets,  but  this  time  he  returned 
without  any,  having  used  them  all 
up  making  moccasins  for  Stickeen, 
whose  feet  were  cut  and  bleeding 
from  the  sharp  honeycomb  ice  of  the 
glacial  surface.     This  mass  of  ice  is 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        169 

so  vast  and  so  comparatively  still 
that  it  has  but  few  crevasses,  and 
Muir's  day  for  traversing  it  was  a 
perfect  one — warm  and  sunny. 

Another  day  he  and  I  climbed  the 
mountain  that  overlooked  it  and 
skirted  the  mighty  ice-field  for  some 
distance,  then  walked  across  the  face 
of  the  glacier  just  back  of  the  rap- 
ids, keeping  away  from  the  deep 
crevasses.  We  drove  a  straight  line 
of  stakes  across  the  glacial  stream 
and  visited  them  each  day  to  watch 
the  deflection  and  curves  of  the 
stakes,  and  thus  arrive  at  some  con- 
ception of  the  rate  at  which  the  ice 
mass  was  moving.  In  some  parts 
of  the  glacial  stream  this  ice  current 
flowed  as  fast  as  fifty  or  sixty  feet 
a  day,  and  we  could  understand  the 
constant  breaking  ofif  and  leaping  up 
and  smashing  down  of  the  ice  and 
the  formation  of  that  great  mass  of 
bergs. 


170    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

Shortly  before  we  left  Muir  Gla- 
cier, I  saw  Muir  furiously  angry  for 
the  first  and  last  time  in  my  ac- 
quaintance with  him.  We  had  no- 
ticed day  after  day,  whenever  the 
mists  admitted  a  view  of  the  moun- 
tain slopes,  bands  of  mountain  goats 
looking  like  little  white  mice  against 
the  green  of  the  high  pastures.  I 
said  to  Joe,  the  hunter,  one  morn- 
ing: "  Go  up  and  get  us  a  kid. 
It  will  be  a  great  addition  to  our 
larder." 

He  took  my  breech-loading  rifle 
and  went.  In  the  afternoon  he  re- 
turned with  a  fine  young  buck  on  his 
shoulders.  While  we  were  examin- 
ing it  he  said: 

"  I  picked  the  fattest  and  most 
tender  of  those  that  I  killed." 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  "did  you 
kill  more  than  this  one?" 

He  put  up  both  hands  with  fingers 
extended  and  then  one  finger: 


The  Dog  and  the  Man       171 

*'  Tatlum-pe-ict  (eleven),"  he  re- 
plied. 

Muir's  face  flushed  red,  and  with 
an  exclamation  that  was  as  near  to 
an  oath  as  he  ever  came,  he  started 
for  Joe.  Luckily  for  that  Indian  he 
saw  Muir  and  fled  like  a  deer  up  the 
rocks,  and  would  not  come  down  un- 
til he  was  assured  that  he  would  not 
be  hurt.  I  shared  Muir's  indignation 
and  would  have  enjoyed  seeing 
him  administer  the  richly  deserved 
thrashing. 

Muir  had  a  strong  aversion  to 
taking  the  life  of  any  animal;  al- 
though he  would  eat  meat  when  pre- 
pared, he  never  killed  a  wild  ani- 
mal; even  the  rattlesnakes  he  did  not 
molest  during  his  rambles  in  Cali- 
fornia. Often  his  softness  of  heart 
was  a  source  of  some  annoyance  and 
a  great  deal  of  astonishment  to  our 
natives;  for  he  would  take  pleasure 
in  rocking  the  canoe  when  they  were 


172    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

trying  to  get  a  bead  on  a  flock  of 
ducks  or  a  deer  standing  on  the 
shore. 

On  leaving  the  mouth  of  Glacier 
Bay  we  spent  a  week  or  more  ex- 
ploring the  inlets  and  glaciers  to 
the  west.  These  days  were  rainy 
and  cold.  We  groped  blindly  into 
unknown,  unmapped,  fog-hidden  fi- 
ords and  bayous,  exploring  them 
to  their  ends  and  often  making  ex- 
cursions to  the  glaciers  above  them. 

The  climax  of  the  trip,  however, 
was  the  last  glacier  we  visited,  Tay- 
lor Glacier,  the  scene  of  Muir's 
great  adventure  with  Stickeen.  We 
reached  this  fine  glacier  in  the  after- 
noon of  a  very  stormy  day.  We 
were  approaching  the  open  Pacific, 
and  the  saanah,  the  southeast  rain- 
wind,  was  howling  through  the  nar- 
row entrance  into  Cross  Sound.  For 
twenty  miles  we  had  been  facing 
strong  head  winds  and  tidal  waves 


The  Dog  and  the  Man       173 

as  we  crept  around  rocky  points  and 
along  the  bases  of  dizzy  cliffs  and 
glacier-scored  rock-shoulders.  We 
were  drenched  to  the  skin;  indeed, 
our  clothing  and  blankets  had  been 
soaking  wet  for  days.  For  two  hours 
before  we  turned  the  point  into  the 
cozy  harbor  in  front  of  the  glacier 
we  had  been  exerting  every  ounce  of 
our  strength;  Lot  in  the  stern  wield- 
ing his  big  steering  paddle,  now  on 
this  side,  now  on  that,  grunting  with 
each  mighty  stroke,  calling  encour- 
agement to  his  crew,  "  Ut-ha,  ut-haf 
hlitsin!  hlitsin-tin!  (pull,  pull,  strong, 
with  strength!)  ";  Joe  and  Billy  ris- 
ing from  their  seats  with  every 
stroke  and  throwing  their  whole 
weight  and  force  savagely  into  their 
oars;  Muir  and  I  in  the  bow  bent 
forward  with  heads  down,  butting 
into  the  slashing  rain,  paddling  for 
dear  life;  Stickeen,  the  only  idle  one, 
looking  over  the  side  of  the  boat  as 


174    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

though  searching  the  channel  and 
then  around  at  us  as  if  he  would  like 
to  help.  All  except  the  dog  were 
exhausted  when  we  turned  into  the 
sheltered  cove. 

While  the  men  pitched  the  tents 
and  made  camp  Muir  and  I  walked 
through  the  thick  grass  to  the  front 
of  the  large  glacier,  which  front 
stretched  from  a  high,  perpendicular 
rock  wall  about  three  miles  to  a  nar- 
row promontory  of  moraine  boulders 
next  to  the  ocean. 

"  Now,  here  is  something  new," 
exclaimed  Muir,  as  we  stood  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  ice.  "  This  glacier 
is  the  great  exception.  All  the  oth- 
ers of  this  region  are  receding;  this 
has  been  coming  forward.  See  the 
mighty  ploughshare  and  its  fur- 
row! " 

For  the  icy  mass  was  heaving  up 
the  ground  clear  across  its  front,  and, 
on  the  side  where  we  stood,  had  evi- 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        175 

dently  found  a  softer  stratum  under 
a  forest-covered  hill,  and  inserted  its 
shovel  point  under  the  hill,  heaved 
it  upon  the  ice,  cracking  the  rocks 
into  a  thousand  fragments;  and  was 
carrying  the  whole  hill  upon  its  back 
towards  the  sea.  The  large  trees 
were  leaning  at  all  angles,  some  of 
them  submerged,  splintered  and 
ground  by  the  crystal  torrent,  some 
of  the  shattered  trunks  sticking  out 
of  the  ice.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
tremendous  examples  of  glacial 
power  I  have  ever  seen. 

"  I  must  climb  this  glacier  to-mor- 
row," said  Muir.  "  I  shall  have  a 
great  day  of  it;  I  wish  you  could 
come  along." 

I  sighed,  not  with  resignation,  but 
with  a  grief  that  was  akin  to  despair. 
The  condition  of  my  shoulders  was 
such  that  it  would  be  madness  to 
attempt  to  join  Muir  on  his  longer 
and  more  perilous  climbs.     I  should 


176    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

only  spoil  his  day  and  endanger  his 
life  as  well  as  my  own. 

That  night  I  baked  a  good  batch 
of  camp  bread,  boiled  a  fresh  kettle 
of  beans  and  roasted  a  leg  of  venison 
ready  for  Muir's  breakfast,  fixed  the 
coffee-pot  and  prepared  dry  kindling 
for  the  fire.  I  knew  he  would  be  up 
and  ofif  at  daybreak,  perhaps  long 
before. 

"  Wake  me  up,"  I  admonished  him, 
"  or  at  least  take  time  to  make  hot 
coffee  before  you  start."  For  the 
wind  was  rising  and  the  rain  pour- 
ing, and  I  knew  how  imperative  the 
call  of  such  a  morning  as  was  prom- 
ised would  be  to  him.  To  traverse 
a  great,  new,  living,  rapidly  moving 
glacier  would  be  high  joy;  but  to 
have  a  tremendous  storm  added  to 
this  would  simply  drive  Muir  wild 
with  desire  to  be  himself  a  part  of 
the  great  drama  played  on  the 
glacier-stage, 


The  Dog  and  tHe  Man       177 

Several  times  during  the  night  I 
was  awakened  by  the  flapping  of  the 
tent,  the  shrieking  of  the  wind  in  the 
spruce-tops  and  the  thundering  of 
the  ocean  surf  on  the  outer  barrier 
of  rocks.  The  tremulous  howling  of 
a  persistent  wolf  across  the  bay 
soothed  me  to  sleep  again,  and  I  did 
not  wake  when  Muir  arose.  As  I 
had  feared,  he  was  in  too  big  a  hurry 
to  take  time  for  breakfast,  but  pock- 
eted a  small  cake  of  camp  bread  and 
hastened  out  into  the  storm-swept 
woods.  I  was  aroused,  however,  by 
the  controversy  between  him  and 
Stickeen  outside  of  the  tent.  The 
little  dog,  who  always  slept  with  one 
eye  and  ear  alert  for  Muir's  move- 
ments, had,  as  usual,  quietly  left  his 
warm  nest  and  followed  his  adopted 
master.  Muir  was  scolding  and  ex- 
postulating with  him  as  if  he  were 
a  boy.  I  chuckled  to  myself  at  the 
futility   of    Muir's    efforts;   Stickeen 


178    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

would  now,  as  always,  do  just  as  he 
pleased — and  he  would  please  to  go 
along. 

Although  I  was  forced  to  stay  at 
the  camp,  this  stormy  day  was  a 
most  interesting  one  to  me.  There 
was  an  old  Hoonah  chief  camped  at 
the  mouth  of  the  little  river  which 
flowed  from  under  Taylor  Glacier. 
He  had  with  him  his  three  wives  and 
a  little  company  of  children  and 
grandchildren.  The  many  salmon 
weirs  and  summer  houses  at  this 
point  showed  that  it  had  been  at  one 
time  a  very  important  fishing  place. 

But  the  advancing  glacier  had 
played  havoc  with  the  chiefs  salmon 
stream.  The  icy  mass  had  been  for 
several  years  traveling  towards  the 
sea  at  the  rate  of  at  least  a  mile 
every  year.  There  were  still  silver 
hordes  of  fine  red  salmon  swimming 
in  the  sea  outside  of  the  river's 
mouth.    But  the  stream  was  now  so 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        179 

short  that  the  most  of  these  salmon 
swam  a  little  ways  into  the  mouth 
of  the  river  and  then  out  into  the 
salt  water  again,  bewildered  and  cir- 
cling about,  doubtless  wondering 
what  had  become  of  their  parent 
stream. 

The  old  chief  came  to  our  camp 
early,  followed  by  his  squaws  bear- 
ing gifts  of  salmon,  porpoise  meat, 
clams  and  crabs;  and  at  his  command 
two  of  the  girls  of  his  family  picked 
me  a  basketful  of  delicious  wild 
strawberries.  He  sat  motionless  by 
my  fire  all  the  forenoon,  smoking  my 
leaf  tobacco  and  pondering  deeply. 
After  the  noon  meal,  which  I  shared 
with  him,  he  called  Billy,  my  inter- 
preter, and  asked  for  a  big  talk. 

With  all  ceremony  I  made  prepa- 
rations, gave  more  presents  of  leaf 
tobacco  and  hardtack  and  composed 
myself  for  the  palaver.  After  the 
usual  preliminaries,  in  which  he  told 


180    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

me  at  great  length  what  a  great  man 
I  was,  how  like  a  father  to  all  the 
people,  comparing  me  to  sun,  moon, 
stars  and  all  other  great  things;  I 
broke  in  upon  his  stream  of  compli- 
ments and  asked  what  he  wanted. 

Recalled  to  earth  he  said:  "  I  wish 
you  to  pray  to  your  God." 

"  For  what  do  you  wish  me  to 
pray?  "  I  asked. 

The  old  man  raised  his  blanketed 
form  to  its  full  height  and  waved 
his  hand  with  a  magnificent  gesture 
towards  the  glacier.  "  Do  you  see 
that  great  ice  mountain?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Once,"  he  said,  "  I  had  the  finest 
salmon  stream  upon  the  coast." 
Pointing  to  a  point  of  rock  five  or 
six  miles  beyond  the  mouth  of  the 
glacier  he  continued :  "  Once  the 
salmon  stream  extended  far  beyond 
that  point  of  rock.  There  was  a 
great  fall  there  and  a  deep  pool  be- 


The  Dog  and  the  Man       181' 

low  it,  and  here  for  years  greal; 
schools  of  king  salmon  came  crowd- 
ing up  to  the  foot  of  that  fall.  To 
spear  them  or  net  them  was  very 
easy;  they  were  the  fattest  and  best' 
salmon  among  all  these  islands.  My 
household  had  abundance  of  meat 
for  the  winter's  need.  But  the  cruel 
spirit  of  that  glacier  grew  angry 
with  me,  I  know  not  why,  and  drove 
the  ice  mountain  down  towards  the 
sea  and  spoiled  my  salmon  stream.- 
A  year  or  two  more  and  it  will  be 
blotted  out  entirely.  I  have  done 
my  best.  I  have  prayed  to  my  gods. 
Last  spring  I  sacrificed  two  of  my 
slaves,  members  of  my  household, 
my  best  slaves,  a  strong  man  and 
his  wife,  to  the  spirit  of  that  glacier 
to  make  the  ice  mountain  stop;  but 
it  comes  on,  stnd  now  I  want  you 
to  pray  to  your  God,  the  God  of  the 
white  man,  to  see  if  He  will  make 
the  glacier  stop!" 


182    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muh* 

I  wish  I  could  describe  the  pathetic 
earnestness  of  this  old  Indian,  the 
simplicity  with  which  he  told  of  the 
sacrifice  of  his  slaves  and  the  eager 
look  with  which  he  awaited  my  an- 
swer. When  I  exclaimed  in  horror 
at  his  deed  of  blood  he  was  aston- 
ished; he  could  not  understand. 

"  Why,  they  were  my  slaves,"  he 
said,  "  and  the  man  suggested  it  him- 
self. He  was  glad  to  go  to  death  to 
help  his  chief." 

A  few  years  after  this  our  mission- 
ary at  Hoonah  had  the  pleasure  of 
baptizing  this  old  chief  into  the 
Christian  faith.  He  had  put  away 
his  slaves  and  his  plural  wives,  had 
surrendered  the  implements  of  his 
old  superstition,  and  as  a  child  em- 
braced the  new  gospel  of  peace  and 
love.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  his 
superstition  about  the  glacier,  how- 
ever, and  about  eight  years  after- 
wards, visiting  at  Wrangell,  he  told 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        183 

me  as  an  item  of  news  which  he  ex- 
pected would  greatly  please  me  that, 
doubtless  as  a  result  of  my  prayers, 
Taylor  Glacier  was  receding  again 
and  the  salmon  beginning  to  come 
into  that  stream. 

At  intervals  during  this  eventful 
day  I  went  to  the  face  of  the  glacier 
and  even  climbed  the  disintegrating 
hill  that  was  riding  on  the  glacier's 
ploughshare,  in  an  effort  to  see  the 
bold  wanderers;  but  the  jagged  ice 
peaks  of  the  high  glacial  rapids 
blocked  my  vision,  and  the  rain  driv- 
ing passionately  in  horizontal  sheets 
shut  out  the  mountains  and  the  up- 
per plateau  of  ice.  I  could  see  that 
it  was  snowing  on  the  glacier,  and 
imagined  the  weariness  and  peril  of 
dog  and  man  exposed  to  the  storm 
in  that  dangerous  region.  I  could 
only  hope  that  Muir  had  not  ven- 
tured to  face  the  wind  on  the  glacier,, 
but  had  contented  himself  with  trac- 


184    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

ing  its  eastern  side,  and  was  some- 
where in  the  woods  bordering  it, 
beside  a  big  fire,  studying  storm  and 
glacier  in  comparative  safety. 

When  the  shadows  of  evening 
were  added  to  those  of  the  storm 
I  had  my  men  gather  materials  for 
a  big  bonfire,  and  kindle  it  well  out 
on  the  flat,  where  it  could  be  seen 
from  mountain  and  glacier.  I  placed 
dry  clothing  and  blankets  in  the  fly 
tent  facing  the  camp-fire,  and  got 
ready  the  best  supper  at  my  com- 
mand: clam  chowder,  fried  porpoise, 
bacon  and  beans,  "  savory  meat " 
made  of  mountain  kid  with  potatoes, 
onions,  rice  and  curry,  camp  bis- 
cuit and  coflfee,  with  dessert  of 
wild  strawberries  and  condensed 
milk. 

It  grew  pitch-dark  before  seven, 
and  it  was  after  ten  when  the  dear 
wanderers  staggered  into  camp  out 
pi  the  dripping  forest.    Stickeen  did 


The  Dog  and  the  ISIan        185 

not  bounce  in  ahead  with  a  bark,  as 
was  his  custom,  but  crept  silently 
to  his  piece  of  blanket  and  curled 
down,  too  tired  to  shake  himself. 
Billy  and  I  laid  hands  on  Muir  with- 
out a  word,  and  in  a  trice  he  was 
stripped  of  his  wet  garments,  rubbed 
dry,  clothed  in  dry  underwear, 
wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  set  down 
on  a  bed  of  spruce  twigs  with  a  plate 
of  hot  chowder  before  him.  When 
the  chowder  disappeared  the  other 
hot  dishes  followed  in  quick  succes- 
sion, without  a  question  asked  or  a 
word  uttered.  Lot  kept  the  fire  blaz- 
ing just  right,  Joe  kept  the  victuals 
hot  and  baked  fresh  bread,  while 
Billy  and  I  waited  on  Muir. 

Not  till  he  came  to  the  cofifee  and 
strawberries  did  Muir  break  the  si- 
lence. "  Yon's  a  brave  doggie,"  he 
said.  Stickeen,  who  could  not  yet 
be  induced  to 'eat,  responded  by  a 
glance  of  one  eye  and  a  feeble  pound- 


186    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

ing  of  the  blanket   with   his   heavy- 
tail. 

Then  Muir  began  to  talk,  and  lit- 
tle by  little,  between  sips  of  coffee, 
the  story  of  the  day  was  unfolded. 
Soon  memories  crowded  for  utter- 
ance and  I  listened  till  midnight,  en- 
tranced by  a  succession  of  vivid  de- 
scriptions the  like  of  which  I  have 
never  heard  before  or  since.  The 
fierce  music  and  grandeur  of  the 
storm,  the  expanse  of  ice  with  its 
bewildering  crevasses,  its  mysterious 
contortions,  its  solemn  voices  were 
made  to  live  before  me. 

When  Muir  described  his  maroon- 
ing on  the  narrow  island  of  ice  sur- 
rounded by  fathomless  crevasses, 
with  a  knife-edged  sliver  curving 
deeply  "  like  the  cable  of  a  suspen- 
sion bridge  "  diagonally  across  it  as 
the  only  means  of  escape,  I  shud- 
dered at  his  peril.  I  held  my  breath 
as  he   told  of  the   terrible   risks  he' 


Ui      .5 


The  Dog  and  the  Man  '     187 

ran  as  he  cut  his  steps  down  the 
wall  of  ice  to  the  bridge's  end, 
knocked  off  the  sharp  edge  of  the 
sliver,  hitched  across  inch  by  inch 
and  climbed  the  still  more  difficult 
ascent  on  the  other  side.  But  when 
he  told  of  Stickeen's  cries  of  despair 
at  being  left  on  the  other  side  of 
the  crevasse,  of  his  heroic  deter- 
mination at  last  to  do  or  die,  of  his 
careful  progress  across  the  sliver  as 
he  braced  himself  against  the  gusts 
and  dug  his  little  claws  into  the  ice, 
and  of  his  passionate  revulsion  to  the 
heights  of  exultation  when,  intoxi- 
cated by  his  escape,  he  became  a  liv- 
ing whirlwind  of  joy,  flashing  about, 
in  mad  gyrations,  shouting  and 
screaming  "  Saved!  saved!  "  my  tears 
streamed  down  my  face.  Before  the 
close  of  the  story  Stickeen  arose, 
stepped  slowly  across  to  Muir  and 
crouched  down'  with  his  head  on 
Muir's  foot,  gazing  into  his  face  and 


188    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

murmuring  soft  canine  words  of 
adoration  to  his  god. 

Not  until  1897,  seventeen  years 
after  the  event,  did  Muir  give  to  the 
public  his  story  of  Stickeen.  How 
many  times  he  had  written  and  re- 
written it  I  know  not.  He  told  me 
at  the  time  of  its  first  publication 
that  he  had  been  thinking  of  the 
story  all  of  these  years  and  jotting 
down  paragraphs  and  sentences  as 
they  occurred  to  him.  He  was  never 
satisfied  with  a  sentence  until  it  bal- 
anced well.  He  had  the  keenest 
sense  of  melody,  as  well  as  of  har- 
mony, in  his  sentence  structure,  and 
this  great  dog-story  of  his  is  a  re- 
markable instance  of  the  growth  to 
perfection  of  the  great  production 
of  a  great  master. 

The  wonderful  power  of  endurance 
of  this  man,  whom  Theodore  Roose- 
velt has  well  called  a  "  perfectly  nat- 
ural man,"  is  instanced  by  the  fact 


The  Dog  and  the  Man       189 

IHat,  although  he  was  gone  about 
seventeen  hours  on  this  day  of  his 
adventure  v^ith  Stickeen,  w^ith  only 
a  bite  of  bread  to  eat,  and  never 
rested  a  minute  of  that  time,  but 
w3ls  battling  with  the  storm  all  day 
and  often  racing  at  full  speed  across 
the  glacier,  yet  he  got  up  at  daylight 
the  next  morning,  breakfasted  with 
me  and  was  gone  all  day  again,  with 
Stickeen  at  his  heels,  climbing  a  high 
mountain  to  get  a  view  of  the  snow 
fountains  and  upper  reaches  of  the 
glacier;  and  when  he  returned  after 
nightfall  he  worked  for  two  or  three 
hours  at  his  notes  and  sketches. 

The  latter  part  of  this  voyage  was 
hurried.  Muir  had  a  wife  waiting 
for  him  at  home  and  he  had  prom- 
ised to  stay  in  Alaska  only  one 
month.  He  had  dallied  so  long  with 
his  icy  loves,  the  glaciers,  that  we 
were  obliged  to  make  all  haste  to 
Sitka,  where  he  expected  to  take  the 


190    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

return  steamer.  To  miss  that  would 
condemn  him  to  Alaska  and  absence 
from  his  wife  for  another  month. 
Through  a  continually  pouring  rain 
we  sailed  by  the  then  deserted  town 
of  Hoonah,  ascended  with  the  rising 
tide  a  long,  narrow,  shallow  inlet, 
dragged  our  canoe  a  hundred  yards 
over  a  little  hill  and  then  descended 
with  the  receding  tide  another  long, 
narrow  passage  down  to  Chatham 
Strait;  and  so  on  to  the  mouth  of 
Peril  Strait  which  divided  Baranof 
from  Chichagof  Island. 

On  the  other  side  of  Chatham 
Strait,  opposite  the  mouth  of  Peril, 
we  visited  again  Angoon,  the  village 
of  the  Hootz-noos.  From  this  town 
the  painted  and  drunken  warriors 
had  come  the  winter  before  and  at- 
tacked the  Stickeens,  killing  old 
Tow-a-att,  Moses  and  another  of  our 
Christian  Indians.  The  trouble  was 
not  settled  yet,  and  although  the  two 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        191 

tribes  had  exchanged  some  pledges 
and  promised  to  fight  no  more,  I 
feared  a  fresh  outbreak,  and  so 
thought  it  wise  to  pay  another  visit 
to  the  Hootz-noos.  As  we  ap- 
proached Angoon,  however,  I  heard 
the  war-drums  beating  with  their  pe- 
culiar cadence,  "  tum-tum  " — a  beat 
off — "  tum-tum,  tum-tum."  As  we 
came  up  to  the  beach  I  saw  what 
was  seemingly  the  whole  tribe  danc- 
ing their  war-dances,  arrayed  in  their 
war-paint  with  their  fantastic  war- 
gear  on.  So  earnestly  engaged  were 
they  in  their  dance  that  they  at  first 
paid  no  attention  whatever  to  me. 
My  heart  sank  into  my  boots. 
"  They  are  going  back  to  Wrangell 
to  attack  the  Stickeens,"  I  thought, 
"  and  there  will  be  another  bloody 
war." 

Driving  our  canoe  ashore,  we  hur- 
ried up  to  the  head  chief  of  the 
Hootz-noos,  who  was  alternately  ha- 


192    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

ranguing  his  people  and  directing 
the  dances. 

"  Anatlask,"  I  called,  "  what  does 
this  mean?  You  are  going  on  the 
warpath.  Tell  me  what  you  are 
about.  Are  you  going  back  to 
Stickeen?" 

He  looked  at  me  vacantly  a  little 
while,  and  then  a  grin  spread  from 
ear  to  ear.  It  was  the  same  chief 
in  whose  house  I  had  seen  the  idiot 
boy  a  year  before. 

"  Come  with  me,"  he  said. 

He  led  us  into  his  house  and 
across  the  room  to  where  in  state, 
surrounded  by  all  kinds  of  chieftain's 
gear,  Chilcat  blankets,  totemic  carv- 
ings and  paintings,  chieftain's  hats 
and  cunningly  woven  baskets,  there 
lay  the  body  of  a  stalwart  young  man 
wrapped  in  a  button-embroidered 
blanket.  The  chief  silently  removed 
the  blanket  from  the  face  of  the 
dead.      The    skull    was    completely 


The  Dog  and  the  Man        193 

crushed  on  one  side  as  by  a  heavy 
blow.     Then  the  story  came  out. 

The  hootz,  or  big  brown  bear  of 
that  country,  is  as  large  and  savage 
as  the  grizzly  bear  of  the  Rockies. 
At  certain  seasons  he  is,  as  the  na- 
tives say,  "  quonsum-sollex  "  (always 
mad).  The  natives  seldom  attack 
these  bears,  confining  their  attention 
to  the  more  timid  and  easily  killed 
black  bears.  But  this  young  man 
with  a  companion,  hunting  on  Bar-* 
anof  Island  across  the  Strait,  found 
himself  suddenly  confronted  by  an 
enormous  hootz.  The  young  man 
rashly  shot  him  with  his  musket, 
wounding  him  sufficiently  to  make 
him  furious.  The  tremendous  brute 
hurled  his  thousand  pounds  of  fe- 
rocity at  the  hunter,  and  one  little 
tap  of  that  huge  paw  crushed  his 
skull  like  an  egg-shell.  His  compan- 
ion brought  his  body  home;  and  now 
the    whole    tribe    had    formally    de- 


194    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

clared  war  on  that  bear,  and  all  this 
dancing  and  painting  and  drumming 
was  in  preparation  for  a  war  party, 
composed  of  all  the  men,  dogs  and 
guns  in  the  town.  They  were  going 
on  the  warpath  to  get  that  bear. 
Greatly  relieved,  I  gave  them  my 
blessing  and  sped  them  on  their, 
way. 

We  had  been  rowing  all  night  be- 
fore this  incident,  and  all  the  next 
night  we  sailed  up  the  tortuous  Pe^il 
Strait,  going  upward  with  the  flood, 
one  man  steering  while  the  other 
slept,  to  the  meeting  place  of  the 
waters;  then  down  with  the  receding 
tide  through  the  islands,  and  so  on 
to  Sitka.  Here  we  met  a  warm  re- 
ception from  the  missionaries,  and 
also  from  the  captain  and  officers 
of  the  old  man-of-war  Jamestown, 
afterwards  used  as  a  school  ship  for 
the  navy  in  the  harbor  of  San 
Francisco. 


The  DofiT  and  the  Man        195 


'o 


Alaska  at  that  time  had  no  vestige 
of  civil  government,  no  means  of 
punishing  crime,  no  civil  officers  ex- 
cept the  customs  collectors,  no  mag- 
istrate or  police, — everyone  v^as  a 
law  to  himself.  The  only  sign  of 
authority  was  this  cumbersome  sail- 
ing vessel  with  its  marines  and  sail- 
ors. It  could  not  move  out  of  Sitka 
harbor  without  first  sending  by  the 
monthly  mail  steamer  to  San  Fran- 
cisco for  a  tug  to  come  and  tow  it 
through  these  intricate  channels  to 
the  sea  where  the  sails  could  be 
spread.  Of  course,  it  was  not  of 
much  use  to  this  vast  territory.  The 
officers  of  the  Jamestown  were  sup- 
posed to  be  doing  some  surveying, 
but,  lacking  the  means  of  travel, 
what  they  did  amounted  to  very 
little. 

They  were  interested  at  once  in 
our  account  of  the  discovery  of  Gla- 
cier Bay  and  of  the  other  unmapped 


196    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

bays  and  inlets  that  we  had  entered. 
At  their  request,  from  Muir's  notes 
and  our  estimate  of  distances  by  our 
rate  of  sailing,  and  of  directions  from 
observations  of  our  little  compass, 
we  drew  a  rough  map  of  Glacier  Bay. 
This  was  sent  on  to  Washington  by 
these  officers  and  published  by  the 
Navy  Department.  For  six  or  seven 
years  it  was  the  only  sailing  chart 
of  Glacier  Bay,  and  two  or  three 
steamers  were  wrecked,  groping 
their  way  in  these  uncharted  pas- 
sages, before  surveying  vessels  be- 
gan to  make  accurate  maps.  So  from 
its  beginning  has  Uncle  Sam  neg- 
lected this  greatest  and  richest  of  all 
his  possessions. 

Our  little  company  separated  at 
Sitka.  Stickeen  and  our  Indian  crew 
were  the  first  to  leave,  embarking  for 
a  return  trip  to  Wrangell  by  canoe. 
Stickeen  had  stuck  close  to  Muir, 
following  him  everywhere,  crouching 


/  The  Dog  and  the  Man        197 

at  his  feet  where  he  sat,  sleeping  in 
his  room  at  night.  When  the  time 
came  for  him  to  leave  Muir  explained 
the  matter  to  him  fully,  talking  to 
and  reasoning  with  him  as  if  he  were 
human.  Billy  led  him  aboard  the 
canoe  by  a  dog-chain,  and  the  last 
Muir  saw  of  him  he  was  standing 
on  the  stern  of  the  canoe,  howling 
a  sad  farewell. 

Muir  sailed  south  on  the  monthly 
mail  steamer;  while  I  took  passage 
on  a  trading  steamer  for  another 
missionary  trip  among  the  northern 
tribes. 

So  ended  my  canoe  voyages  with 
John  Muir.  Their  memory  is  fresh 
and  sweet  as  ever.  The  flowing 
stream  of  years  has  not  washed  away 
nor  dimmed  the  impressions  of  those 
great  days  we  spent  together. 
Nearly  all  of  them  were  cold,  wet 
and  uncomfortable,  if  one  were 
merely  an  animal,  to  be  depressed  or 


198    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

enlivened  by  physical  conditions. 
But  of  these  so-called  "  hardships " 
Muir  made  nothing,  and  I  caught  his 
spirit;  therefore,  the  beauty,  the 
glory,  the  wonder  and  the  thrills  of 
those  weeks  of  exploration  are  with 
me  yet  and  shall  endure — a  rustless, 
inexhaustible  treasure. 


THE  MAN  IN  PERSPECTIVE 


JOHN  MUIR 

He  lived  aloft,  exultant,  unafraid. 

All  things  were  good  to  him.    The  mountain  old 

Stretched  gnarled  hands  to  help  him  climb.    The  peak 

Waved  blithe  snow-banner  greeting;  and  for  him 

The  rav'ning  storm,  aprowl  for  human  life, 

Purred  like  the  lion  at  his  trainer's  feet. 

The  grizzly  met  him  on  the  narrow  ledge. 

Gave  gruff  "  good  morning  " — and  the  right  of  way. 

The  blue-veined  glacier,  cold  of  heart  and  pale, 

Warmed,  at  his  gaze,  to  amethystine  blush. 

And  murmured  deep,  fond  undertones  of  love. 

He  walked  apart  from  men,  yet  loved  his  kind, 

And  brought  them  treasures  from  his  larger  store. 

For  them  he  delved  in  mines  of  richer  gold. 

Earth's  messenger  he  was  to  human  hearts. 

The  starry  moss  flower  from  its  dizzy  shelf, 

The  ouzel,  shaking  forth  its  spray  of  song. 

The  glacial  runlet,  tinkling  its  clear  bell. 

The  rose-of-morn,  abloom  on  snowy  heights — 

Each  sent  by  him  a  jewel-word  of  cheer. 

Blind  eyes  he  opened  and  deaf  ears  unstopped. 

He  lived  aloft,  apart.     He  talked  with  God 
In  all  the  myriad  tongues  of  God's  sweet  world; 
But  still  he  came  anear  and  talked  with  us, 
Interpreting  for  God  to  listn'ing  men. 


JOHN   MUIR  IN  LATER  LIFE 


VII 

THE  MAN  IN  PERSPECTIVE 

THE  friendship  between  John 
Muir  and  myself  was  of  that 
fine  sort  which  grows  and 
deepens  with  absence  ahnost  as  well 
as  with  companionship.  Occasional 
letters  passed  from  one  to  the  other. 
When  I  felt  like  writing  to  Muir  I 
obeyed  the  impulse  without  asking 
whether  I  "  owed  "  him  a  letter,  and 
he  followed  the  same  rule — or 
rather  lack  of  rule.  Sometimes  an- 
swers to  these  letters  came  quickly; 
sometimes  they  were  long  delayed, 
so  long  that  they  were  not  answers 
at  all.  When  I  sent  him  "  news  of 
his  mountains  and  glaciers "  that 
contained  items  really  novel  to  him 
his  replies  were  immediate  and  en- 

201 


202    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

thusiastic.  When  he  had  found  in 
his  great  outdoor  museum  some  pe- 
culiar treasure  he  talked  over  his 
find  with  me  by  letter. 

Muir's  letters  were  never  com- 
monplace and  sometimes  they  were 
long  and  rich.  I  preserved  them  all; 
and  when,  a  few  years  ago,  an 
Alaska  steamboat  sank  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  Yukon,  carrying  with  it 
my  library  and  all  my  literary  pos- 
sessions, the  loss  of  these  letters 
from  my  friend  caused  me  more  sor- 
row than  the  loss  of  almost  any 
other  of  my  many  priceless  treas- 
ures. 

The  summer  of  1881,  the  year  fol- 
lowing that  of  our  second  canoe  voy- 
age, Muir  went,  as  scientific  and  lit- 
erary expert,  with  the  U.  S.  revenue 
cutter  Rogers,  which  was  sent  by 
fthe  Government  into  the  Arctic 
Ocean  in  search  of  the  ill-fated  De 
Long    exploring    party.      His    pub- 


The  Man  in  Perspective      203 

Ushed  articles  written  on  the  revenue 
cutter  were  of  great  interest;  but  in 
his  more  intimate  letters  to  me 
there  was  a  note  of  disappointment. 

*'  There  have  been  no  mountains 
to  climb,"  he  wrote,  "  although  I 
have  had  entrancing  long-distance 
views  of  many.  I  have  not  had  a 
chance  to  visit  any  glaciers.  There 
were  no  trees  in  those  arctic  regions, 
and  but  few  flowers.  Of  God's  proc- 
ess of  modeling  the  world  I  saw  but 
little — nothing  for  days  but  that 
limitless,  relentless  ice-pack.  I  was 
confined  within  the  narrow  prison 
of  the  ship;  I  had  no  freedom,  I 
went  at  the  will  of  other  men;  not  of 
my  own.  It  was  very  different  from 
those  glorious  canoe  voyages  with 
you  in  your  beautiful,  fruitful  wil- 
derness." 

A  very  brief  visit  at  Muir's  home 
near  Martinez,  California,  in  the 
spring  of  1883  found  him  at  what  he 


204    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

frankly  said  was  very  distasteful 
work — managing  a  large  fruit  ranch. 
He  was  doing  the  work  well  and 
making  his  orchards  pay  large  divi- 
dends; but  his  heart  was  in  the  hills 
and  woods.  Eagerly  he  questioned 
me  of  my  travels  and  of  the  "  prog- 
ress "  of  the  glaciers  and  woods  of 
Alaska.  Beyond  a  few  short  moun- 
tain trips  he  had  seen  nothing  for 
two  years  of  his  beloved  wilds. 

Passionately  he  voiced  his  discon- 
tent: "  I  am  losing  the  precious  days. 
I  am  degenerating  into  a  machine 
for  making  money.  I  am  learning 
nothing  in  this  trivial  world  of  men. 
I  must  break  away  and  get  out  into 
the  mountains  to  learn  the  news." 

In  1888  the  ten  years'  limit  which 
I  had  set  for  service  in  Alaska  ex- 
pired. The  educational  necessities 
of  my  children  and  the  feeling  that 
was  growing  upon  me  like  a  smoth- 
ering cloud  that  if  I  remained  much 


The  Man  in  Perspective      205 

longer  among  the  Indians  I  would 
lose  all  power  to  talk  or  write  good 
English,  drove  me  from  the  North- 
west to  find  a  temporary  home  in 
Southern  California. 

I  had  not  notified  Muir  of  my 
coming,  but  suddenly  appeared  in 
his  orchard  at  Martinez  one  day  in 
early  summer.  It  was  cherry-pick- 
ing time  and  he  was  out  among  his 
trees  superintending  a  large  force 
of  workmen.  He  saw  me  as  soon 
as  I  discovered  him,  and  dropping 
the  basket  he  was  carrying  came 
running  to  greet  me  with  both  hands 
outstretched. 

"Ah!  my  friend,"  he  cried,  ''I 
have  been  longing  mightily  for  you. 
You  have  come  to  take  me  on  a 
canoe  trip  to  the  countries  beyond 
— to  Lituya  and  Yakutat  bays  and 
Prince  William  Sound;  have  you 
not?  My  weariness  of  this  hum- 
drum, work-a-day  life  has  grown  so 


206    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

heavy  it  is  like  to  crush  me.  I'm 
ready  to  break  away  and  go  with 
you  whenever  you  say." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  leaving 
Alaska." 

"Man,  man!"  protested  Muir, 
"how  can  you  do  it?  You'll  never 
carry  out  such  a  notion  as  that  in 
the  world.  Your  heart  will  cry  every 
day  for  the  North  like  a  lost  child; 
and  in  your  sleep  the  snow-banners 
of  your  white  peaks  will  beckon 
to  you. 

"  Why,  look  at  me,"  he  said,  "  and 
take  warning.  I'm  a  horrible  exam- 
ple. I,  who  have  breathed  the  moun- 
tain air — who  have  really  lived  a  life 
of  freedom — condemned  to  penal 
servitude  with  these  miserable  little 
bald-heads!"  (holding  up  a  bunch  of 
cherries).  "Boxing  them  up;  put- 
ting them  in  prison!  And  for 
money!  Man!  I'm  like  to  die  of  the 
shame  of  it. 


The  Man  in  Perspective      207 

"  And  then  you're  not  safe  a  day 
in  this  sordid  world  of  money-grub- 
bing men.  I  came  near  dying  a 
mean,  civilized  death,  the  other  day. 
A  Chinaman  emptied  a  bucket  of 
phosphorus  over  me  and  almost 
burned  me  up.  How  different  that 
would  have  been  from  a  nice  white 
death  in  the  crevasse  of  a  glacier! 

"  Gin  it  were  na  for  my  bairnies 
I'd  rin  awa'  frae  a'  this  tribble  an' 
hale  ye  back  north  wi'  me." 

So  Muir  would  run  on,  now  in 
English,  now  in  broad  Scotch;  but 
through  all  his  raillery  there  ran  a 
note  of  longing  for  the  wilderness. 
"  I  want  to  see  what  is  going  on," 
he  said.  "  So  many  great  events 
are  happening,  and  I'm  not  there 
to  see  them.  I'm  learning  nothing 
here  that  will  do  me  any  good." 

I  spent  the  night  with  him,  and 
we  talked  till  long  after  midnight, 
sailing    anew  .  our    voyages    of    en- 


)S08    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

chantment.  He  had  just  completed 
his  work  of  editing  "  Picturesque 
California  "  and  gave  me  a  set  of  the 
beautiful  volumes. 

Our  paths  did  not  converge  again 
for  nine  years;  but  I  was  to  have, 
after  all,  a  few  more  Alaska  days 
with  John  Muir.  The  itch  of  the 
wanderlust  in  my  feet  had  become  a 
wearisome,  nervous  ache,  increasing 
with  the  years,  and  the  call  of  the 
wild  more  imperative,  until  the  fierce 
yearning  for  the  North  was  at  times 
more  than  I  could  bear. 

The  first  of  the  great  northward 
gold  stampedes — that  of  1897  to  the 
Klondyke  in  Northwestern  Canada 
on  the  borders  of  Alaska — afforded 
me  the  opportunity  for  which  I  was 
longing  to  return  to  the  land  of 
my  heart.  The  latter  part  of  Au- 
gust saw  me  on  The  Queen,  the 
largest  of  that  great  fleet  of  pas- 
senger  boats    that    were    traversing 


The  Man  in  Perspective      209 

the  thousand  miles  of  wonder  and 
beauty  between  Seattle  and  Skag- 
way.  These  steamboats  were  all 
laden  with  gold  seekers  and  their 
goods.  Seattle  sprang  into  promi- 
nence and  wealth,  doubling  her  pop- 
ulation in  a  few  months.  From 
every  community  in  the  United 
States,  from  all  Canada  and  from 
many  lands  across  the  oceans  came 
that  strange  mob  of  lawyers,  doc- 
tors, clerks,  merchants,  farmers,  me- 
chanics, engineers,  reporters,  sharp- 
ers— all  gold-struck — all  mad  with 
excitement — all  rushing  pell-mell  into 
a  thousand  new  and  hard  experi- 
ences. 

As  I  stood  on  the  upper  deck  of 
the  vessel,  watching  the  strange 
scene  on  the  dock,  who  should  come 
up  the  gang-plank  but  John  Muir, 
wearing  the  same  old  gray  ulster 
and  Scotch  cap!  It  was  the  last 
place    in    the    world    I    would    have 


210    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

looked  for  him.  But  he  was  not 
stampeding  to  the  Klondyke.  His 
being  there  at  that  time  was  really 
an  accident.  In  company  with  two 
other  eminent  "  tree-men "  he  had 
been  spending  the  summer  in  the 
study  of  the  forests  of  Canada  and 
the  three  were  "  climaxing,"  as  they 
said,  in  the  forests  of  Alaska. 

Five  pleasurable  days  we  had  to- 
gether on  board  The  Queen.  Muir 
was  vastly  amused  by  the  motley 
crowd  of  excited  men,  their  various 
outfits,  their  queer  equipment,  their 
ridiculous  notions  of  camping  and 
life  in  the  wilderness.  "  A  nest  of 
ants,"  he  called  them,  "  taken  to  a 
strange  country  and  stirred  up  with 
a  stick." 

As  our  steamboat  touched  at  Port 
Townsend,  Muir  received  a  long 
telegram  from  a  San  Francisco 
newspaper,  offering  him  a  large  sum 
if  he  would  go  over  the  mountains 


The  Man  in  Perspective      211 

and  down  the  Yukon  to  the  Klon- 
dyke,  and  write  them  letters  about 
conditions  there.  He  brought  the 
telegram  to  me,  laughing  heartily  at 
the  absurdity  of  anybody  making 
him  such  a  proposition. 

"Do  they  think  I'm  daft,"  he 
asked,  "  like  a'  the  lave  o'  thae  puin 
bodies?  When  I  go  into  that  wild 
it  will  not  be  in  a  crowd  like  this  or 
on  such  a  sordid  mission.  Ah!  my 
old  friend,  they'll  be  spoiling  our 
grand  Alaska." 

He  offered  to  secure  for  me  the  re- 
porter's job  tendered  to  him.  I  re- 
fused, urging  my  lack  of  train- 
ing for  such  work  and  my  more 
important  and  responsible  posi- 
tion. 

"  Why,  that  same  paper  has  a 
host  of  reporters  on  the  way  to  the 
Klondyke    now,"    I    said.      "  There 

is  "   (naming  a  noted  poet  and 

author  of  the  Coast).     "  He  must  be 


212    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

half-way  down  to  Dawson  by  this 
time." 

" doesn't      count,"      replied 

Muir,  "  for  the  patent  reason  that 
everybody  knows  he  can't  tell  the 
truth.  The  poor  fellow  is  not  to 
blame  for  it.  He  was  just  made  that 
way.  Everybody  will  read  with  de- 
light his  wonderful  tales  of  the  trail, 
but  nobody  will  believe  him.  We  all 
know  him  too  well." 

Muir  contracted  a  hard  cold  the 
first  night  out  from  Seattle.  The 
hot,  close  stateroom  and  a  cold  blast 
through  the  narrow  window  were 
the  cause.  A  distressing  cough 
racked  his  whole  frame.  When  he 
refused  to  go  to  a  physician  who 
was  on  the  boat  I  l^rought  the  doc- 
tor to  him.  After  the  usual  exami- 
nation the  physician  asked,  "  What 
do  you  generally  do  for  a  cold?" 

"Oh,"  said  Muir,  "I  shiver  it 
away." 


The  Man  in  Perspective      213 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  the  puz- 
zled doctor. 

"We-11,"  drawled  Muir,  "two  or 
three  years  ago  I  camped  by  the 
Muir  Glacier  for  a  week.  I  had 
caught  just  such  a  cold  as  this  from 
the  same  cause — a  stuffy  stateroom. 
So  I  made  me  a  little  sled  out  of 
spruce  boughs,  put  a  blanket  and 
some  sea  biscuit  on  it  and  set  out  up 
the  glacier.  I  got  into  a  labyrinth 
of  crevasses  and  a  driving  snow- 
storm, and  had  to  spend  the  night 
on  the  ice  ten  miles  from  land.  I 
sat  on  the  sled  all  night  or  thrashed 
about  it,  and  had  a  dickens  of  a 
time;  I  shivered  so  hard  I  shook  the 
sled  to  pieces.  When  morning  came 
my  cold  was  all  gone.  That  is  my 
prescription,  Doctor.  You  are  wel- 
come to  use  it  in  your  prac- 
tice." 

"Well,"  laughed  the  doctor,  "if 
I  had  such  patients  as  you  in  such 


814    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

a  country  as  this  I  might  try  your 
heroic  remedy,  but  I  am  afraid  it 
would  hardly  serve  in  general 
practice." 

Muir  and  I  made  the  most  of 
these  few  days  together,  and  walked 
the  decks  till  late  each  night,  for  he 
had  much  to  tell  me.  He  had  at  last 
written  his  story  of  Stickeen;  and 
was  working  on  books  treating  of 
the  Big  Trees,  the  National  Parks 
and  the  glaciers  of  Alaska. 

At  Wrangell,  as  we  went  ashore, 
we  were  greeted  by  joyful  exclama- 
tions from  the  little  company  of  old 
Stickeen  Indians  we  found  on  the 
dock.  That  sharp  intaking  of  the 
breath  which  is  the  Thlinget's  note 
of  surprise  and  delight,  and  the 
words  Nuknate  Ankow  ka  Glate 
Ankow  (Priest  Chief  and  Ice  Chief) 
passed  along  the  line.  Death  had 
made  many  gaps  in  the  old  circle  of 
friends,  both  white  and  native,  but 


The  Man  in  Perspective      215 

the  welcome  from  those  who  re- 
mained warmed  our  hearts. 

From  Wrangell  northward  the 
steamboat  followed  the  route  of  our 
canoe  voyage  of  1880  through  Wran- 
gell Narrows  into  Prince  Freder- 
ick Sound,  past  Norris  Glacier  and 
Holkham  Bay  into  Stevens  Passage, 
past  Taku  Bay  to  Juneau  and  on  to 
Lynn  Canal — then  on  the  track  of 
our  voyage  of  1879  up  to  Haines 
and  beyond  fifteen  miles  to  that  new, 
chaotic  camp  in  the  woods  called 
Skagway. 

The  two  or  three  days  which  it 
took  The  Queen  to  discharge  her 
load  of  passengers  and  cargo  of  their 
outfits  were  spent  by  Muir  and  his 
scientific  companions  in  roaming  the 
forests  and  mountains  about  Skag- 
way and  examining  the  flora  of  that 
region.  They  kept  mostly  ofT  the 
trail  of  the  struggling,  straggling 
army    of    Cheechakoes    (newcomers) 


216    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

who  were  blunderingly  trying  to  get 
their  goods  and  themselves  across 
the  rugged,  jagged  mountains  on 
their  way  to  the  promised  land  of 
gold;  but  Muir  found  time  to  spend 
some  hours  with  me  in  my  camp 
under  a  hemlock,  where  he  ate 
again  of  my  cooking  over  a  camp- 
fire. 

"  You  are  going  on  a  strange  jour- 
ney this  time,  my  friend,"  he  admon- 
ished me.  "  I  don't  envy  you. 
You'll  have  a  hard  time  keeping  your 
heart  light  and  simple  in  the  midst 
of  this  crowd  of  madmen.  Instead 
of  the  music  of  the  wind  among  the 
spruce-tops  and  the  tinkling  of  the 
waterfalls,  your  ears  will  be  filled 
with  the  oaths  and  groans  of  these 
poor,  deluded,  self-burdened  men. 
Keep  close  to  Nature's  heart,  your- 
self; and  break  clear  away,  once  in 
a  while,  and  climb  a  mountain  or 
spend  a  week  in  the  woods.    Wash 


The  Man  in  Perspective      217 

your  spirit  clean  from  the  earth- 
stains  of  this  sordid,  gold-seeking 
crowd  in  God's  pure  air.  It  will 
help  you  in  your  efforts  to  bring  to 
these  men  something  better  than 
gold.  Don't  lose  your  freedom  and 
your  love  of  the  Earth  as  God 
made  it." 

In  1899  it  was  my  good  fortune 
to  have  one  more  Alaska  day  with 
John  Muir  at  Skagway.  After  a 
year  in  the  Klondyke  I  had  spent  the 
winter  of  1898-99  in  the  Eastern 
States  arousing  the  Christian  pub- 
lic to  the  needs  of  this  newly  discov- 
ered Empire  of  the  North;  and  was 
returning  with  other  ministers  to 
interior  and  western  Alaska.  The 
White  Pass  Railroad  was  completed 
only  to  the  summit;  and  it  was  a 
laborious  task,  requiring  a  month  of 
very  hard  work,  to  get  our  goods 
from  Skagway  over  the  thirty  miles 
of     mountains     to     Lake     Bennett, 


218    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

where  we  could  load  them  on  our 
open  boat  for  the  voyage  of  two 
thousand  miles  down  the  Yukon. 

While  I  was  engaged  in  this  task 
there  came  to  Skagway  the  steam- 
ship George  W .  Elder,  carrying  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  companies 
of  scientific  men  ever  gathered  to- 
gether in  one  expedition.  Mr.  Har- 
riman,  the  great  railroad  magnate, 
had  chartered  the  steamer,  and  had 
invited  as  his  guests  many  men  of 
world  reputation  in  various  branches 
of  natural  science.  Among  them 
were  John  Burroughs,  Drs.  Merriam 
and  Dahl  of  the  Smithsonian  Insti- 
tute, and,  not  least,  John  Muir.  In- 
deed he  was  called  the  Nestor  of  the 
expedition  and  his  advice  followed 
as  that  of  no  other. 

The  enticing  proposition  was 
made  me  by  Muir,  and  backed  by 
Mr.  Harriman's  personal  invitation, 
that  I  should  join  this  distinguished 


The  Man  in  Perspective      219. 

company,  share  Muir's  stateroom 
and  spend  the  summer  cruising" 
along  the  southern  and  western 
coasts  of  Alaska.  However,  the 
new  mining  camps  were  calling  with 
a  still  more  imperative  voice,  and  I 
had  to  turn  my  back  to  the  Coast 
and  face  the  great,  sun-bathed  Inte- 
rior. But  what  a  joy  and  inspira- 
tion it  would  have  been  to  climb 
Muir,  Geicke  and  Taylor  glaciers 
again  with  Muir,  note  the  rapid 
progress  God  was  making  in  His 
work  of  landscape  gardening  by 
means  of  these  great  tools,  make  at 
last  our  deferred  visits  to  Lituya 
and  Yakutat  bays  and  the  fine  gla- 
ciers of  Prince  William's  Sound,  and 
renew  my  studies  of  this  good  world 
under  my  great  Master. 

A  letter  from  Muir  about  his  sum- 
mer's cruise,  written  in  November, 
1899,  reached  me  at  Nome  in  June, 
1900;    for    those    of    us    who    had 


220    Alaska  Days  with  John  Mulr 

reached  that  bleak,  exposed  north- 
western coast  and  wintered  there 
did  not  get  any  mail  for  six  months. 
We  were  fifteen  hundred  miles  from 
a  post-office. 

In  his  letter  Muir  wrote:  "The 
voyage  was  a  grand  one,  and  I  saw 
much  that  was  new  to  me  and 
packed  full  of  interest  and  instruc- 
tion. But,  do  you  know,  I  longed 
to  break  away  from  the  steamboat 
and  its  splendid  company,  get  a 
dugout  canoe  and  a  crew  of  Indians, 
and,  with  you  as  my  companion, 
poke  into  the  nooks  and  crannies  of 
the  mountains  and  glaciers  which 
we  could  not  reach  from  the  steamer. 
What  great  days  we  have  had  to- 
gether, you  and  I !  " 

This  day  at  Skagway,  in  1899, 
was  the  last  of  my  Alaska  days  with 
John  Muir,  except  as  I  bring  them 
back  and  live  them  over  in  my 
thoughts.     How  often   in   my  long 


The  Man  in  Perspective      221 

voyages,  by  canoe  or  steamer, 
among  the  thousand  islands  of 
southeastern  Alaska,  the  intricate 
channels  of  Prince  William's  Sound, 
the  great  rivers  and  multitudinous 
lakes  of  the  Interior,  and  the  tree- 
less, windsv^ept  coasts  of  Bering  Sea 
and  the  Arctic  Ocean;  or  in  my 
tramps  in  the  summer  over  the 
mountains  and  plains  of  Alaska,  or 
in  the  winter  w^ith  my  dogs  over 
the  frozen  wilderness  fighting  the 
great  battle  with  the  fierce  cold  or 
spellbound  under  the  magic  of  the 
Aurora — how  often  have  I  longed 
for  the  presence  of  Muir  to  heighten 
my  enjoyment  by  his  higher  ecstasy, 
or  reveal  to  me  what  I  was  too  dull 
to  see  or  understand.  I  have  had 
inspiring  companions,  and  my  life 
has  been  blessed  by  many  friend- 
ships inestimably  precious  and  rich; 
but  for  me  the  world  has  produced 
but  one  John  Muir;  and  to  no  other 


222    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

man  do  I  feel  that  I  owe  so  much; 
for  I  was  blind  and  he  made  me  see! 

Only  once  since  1899  did  I  meet 
him,  and  then  but  for  an  hour  at  his 
temporary  home  in  Los  Angeles  in 
1910.  He  was  putting  the  finishing 
touches  on  his  rich  volume,  "  The 
Story  of  My  Boyhood  and  Youth." 
I  submitted  for  his  review  and  cor- 
rection the  article  which  forms  the 
first  two  chapters  of  this  book.  With 
that  nice  regard  for  absolute  verity 
which  always  characterized  him  he 
pointed  out  two  or  three  passages 
in  which  his  recollection  clashed 
with  mine,  and  I  at  once  made  the 
changes  he  suggested. 

Muir  never  grew  old.  After  he 
was  sixty  years  of  age  (as  men  count 
age)  some  of  his  most  daring  feats 
of  mountain  climbing  and  some  of 
his  longest  journeys  into  the  wilds 
were  undertaken.  When  he  was 
past  seventy  he  was  still  tramping 


The  Man  in  Perspective      223 

and  camping  in  the  forests  and 
among  the  hills.  When  he  was  sev- 
enty-three he  made  long  trips  to 
South  America  and  Africa,  and  to 
the  very  end  he  v^^as  exploring, 
studying,  working  and  enjoying. 

All  his  writings  exult  with  the 
spirit  of  immortal  youth.  There 
is  in  his  books  an  intimate  com- 
panionship with  the  trees,  the  moun- 
tains, the  flowers  and  the  animals, 
that  is  altogether  fine.  Surely  no 
such  books  of  mountains  and  for- 
ests were  ever  written  as  his 
"  Mountains  of  California,"  ''  My 
First  Summer  in  the  Sierra,"  "The 
Yosemite"  and  "Our  National 
Parks."  His  brooks  and  trees  are 
the  abode  of  dryads  and  hamadryads 
— they  live  and  talk. 

And  when  he  writes  of  the  ani- 
mals he  has  met  in  his  rambles, 
without  any  attempt  to  put  into 
their  characters  anything  that  does 


224    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

not  belong  to  them,  without  "  manu- 
facturing his  data,"  he  somehow 
manages  to  do  much  more  than  in- 
troduce them  to  you;  he  makes  you 
their  intimate  and  admiring  friends, 
as  he  was.  His  ouzel  bobs  you  a 
cheery  good  morning  and  sprays  you 
with  its  "  ripple  of  song  ";  his  Doug- 
las squirrel  scolds  and  swears  at  you 
with  rough  good-nature;  and  his 
big-horn  gazes  at  you  with  frank 
and  friendly  eyes  and  challenges  you 
to  follow  to  its  splendid  heights,  not 
as  a  hunter  but  as  a  companion. 
You  love  them  all,  as  Muir  did. 

As  an  instance  of  this  power  in 
his  writings,  when  I  returned  from 
the  Klondyke  in  1898  the  story  of 
Stickeen  had  been  published  in  a 
magazine  a  few  months  before.  I 
met  in  New  York  a  daughter  of  the 
great  Field  family,  who  when  a  child 
had  heard  me  tell  of  Muir's  exploit 
in  rescuing  me  from  the  mountain 


The  Man  in  Perspective      225 

top,  and  who  had  shouted  with  de- 
light when  I  told  of  our  sliding 
down  the  mountain  in  the  moraine 
gravel.  She  asked  me  eagerly  if  I 
was  the  Mr.  Young  mentioned  in 
Muir's  story.  When  I  said  that  I 
was  she  called  to  her  companions 
and  introduced  me  as  the  Owner  of 
Stickeen;  and  I  was  content  to  have 
as  my  claim  to  an  earthly  immor- 
tality my  ownership  of  an  immor- 
talized dog. 

I  cannot  think  of  John  Muir  as 
dead,  or  as  much  changed  from  the 
man  with  whom  I  canoed  and 
camped.  He  was  too  much  a  part 
of  nature — too  natural — to  be  sepa- 
rated from  his  mountains,  trees  and 
glaciers.  Somewhere,  I  am  sure,  he 
is  making  other  explorations,  solv- 
ing other  natural  problems,  using 
that  brilliant,  inventive  genius  to 
good  effect;  and  some  time  again  I 
shall    hear    him    unfold    anew,    with 


226    Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

still  clearer  insight  and  more  elo- 
quent words,  fresh  secrets  of  his 
•'  mountains   of   God." 

The  Thlingets  have  a  Happy 
Hunting  Ground  in  the  Spirit  Land 
for  dogs  as  well  as  for  men;  and 
Muir  used  to  contend  that  they  were 
right — that  the  so-called  lower  ani- 
mals have  as  much  right  to  a 
Heaven  as  humans.  I  wonder  if  he 
has  found  a  still  more  beautiful — a 
glorified — Stickeen;  and  if  the  little 
fellow  still  follows  and  frisks  about 
him  as  in  those  great,  old  days.  I 
like  to  think  so;  and  when  I  too 
cross  the  Great  Divide — and  it  can't 
be  long  now — I  shall  look  eagerly 
for  them  both  to  be  my  companions 
in  fresh  adventures.  In  the  mean- 
time I  am  lonely  for  them  and  think 
of  them  often,  and  say,  with  The 
Harvester,  "  What  a  dog ! — and  what 
a  MAN!!" 

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